


Requited

by eponine119



Category: Lost
Genre: 1970s, DHARMA Initiative, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponine119/pseuds/eponine119
Summary: Sequel to Unrequited. Sawyer and Juliet find their way in their new relationship and in their new lives in the Dharma Initiative. Miles and Jin also appear.
Relationships: Juliet Burke/James "Sawyer" Ford
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete. Chapters will be posted every few days, as I finish editing them.

Chapter One

She slips into the house late, but Miles is sitting up in the living room, almost like he's waiting for her. He takes one look at her and says, “You finally got together.” 

“Go to bed, Miles.” She flushes with embarrassment, then relents. “Yes. We're together.” 

“Good.” He gives her a long look. “Don't screw it up.” 

“I won't.” She has no intention of doing so. And yet, the two of them, her and James... it's such an odd combination. She wants it to work. She's not sure she believes yet that it will. 

“If he breaks your heart, I'm going to shoot him.” 

“Thank you? For that, Miles,” she says. 

“I'll tell him tomorrow.” He gets up, but instead of heading down the hall, he walks over to her. Miles gives her the most awkward hug she's ever experienced. “I'm happy for you two.” 

That was weird, she thinks. But nice. Still nice. 

…

Sawyer doesn't mean to disappear on her. Really. He doesn't. 

In the morning, he splashes on a little extra cologne before making his customary stop at the motor pool to check out a van for the day. He's a little nervous, because he knows he needs to be cool and smooth as hell. He doesn't want to let on that he was up half the night thinking about her, reliving the evening, and trying to plan what's next. 

He has no idea what's next. Except for this. 

“Mornin', Blondie.” He sidles up to the checkout sheet. 

She's waiting for him, leaning casually against the workbench. “Good morning, James.” 

He never realized before that he kind of likes her smirky smile. Or maybe he only likes it when he knows she's thinking about him. He is tempted to lean in and give her a soft, small kiss, but he's pretty sure it wouldn't stop there. 

They just look at each other. Matt clears his throat somewhere behind them. 

“Number 4,” she says, and puts the key into his hand. 

“My favorite,” he remarks. He puts his hand on her arm, ever so briefly, because he has to touch her. Then he turns to get in the van. Before he backs it up, he raises his hand in a wave, but she's already returned to whatever fascinating engine she's repairing or destroying. He lowers his hand quickly and spins the wheel. 

He misses lunch, as usual. Miles brings him a sandwich.

“She told you,” Sawyer says, knowing he wouldn't be getting fed otherwise. 

“I'm happy for you, Jim,” Miles says. “If you break her heart, I'm going to hurt you. Bad.” 

“Her heart? What about my heart!?” 

Miles looks like he hadn't considered that possibility. 

“What, you don't think she can do it?” Sawyer asks. She could crush his feelings so easily, but he's the only one who knows it. He'd like to keep quiet about it. 

“I don't think she will.” 

“You think it's gonna be me?” Sawyer asks, a little incredulous. They got together less than 24 hours ago and they're already taking bets on who's going to screw it up and cause it to end? He sighs. Maybe he deserves it. 

“Eat fast,” Miles recommends. “Goodspeed's on his way.” 

Just what he needs. A date with the boss. He's wolfed down half the ham and swiss when Horace makes his appearance in the security center. “You've done a good job so far, LaFleur.” 

“You didn't come all the way over here just to tell me that,” Sawyer says. 

“You're right. I didn't.” Horace glances at Miles, who remembers he has somewhere else to be, leaving them alone. “It's time for me to bring you into the circle of trust.” 

“Is there an initiation ceremony?” 

Horace just looks at him. Sawyer makes a face, acknowledging he's being a smart ass when it's not being called for. Except it's always called for. “Have you been to the other stations yet?” Horace asks. 

Sawyer almost slips and says he's been to the hatch. “Can't say that I have.” 

“Then it's high time you did. Start with the Arrow.” 

A memory washes over him, taking him back to hiding in an abandoned Dharma station with Ana Lucia and her crew. For a second, his shoulder aches and he can feel the undercurrent of the terror of the tail section survivors. He blinks and he's back in 1974. 

“Go alone,” Horace instructs. “I want to see you when you're done.” 

Sawyer swallows and nods. “All right,” he finds his voice. 

Horace gives him a long, measuring look and leaves him. Miles wanders back in while Sawyer's finishing the sandwich. “What's that about?” 

“Field trip,” Sawyer says. He pats the desk and his pockets. “You got the van keys?” 

Miles hands them over. “What're we going to use to patrol?” 

“Go check out another one.” 

Miles gives him a pointed look. “Sure you don't wanna do it?” 

He wishes he could. Just like he wishes he'd had an hour to kill in the cafeteria sitting next to her, eating lunch. “Gotta go, on the double,” he says. 

“Don't forget to write.” 

…

Juliet doesn't even realize she's doing it until she catches Miles watching her. It's the third or fourth time she's looked over at the door of the cafeteria, hoping to see James striding toward them. But he doesn't come. She stretches out her meal until it's cold, and the empty seat to her left remains empty. 

“He's not coming,” she says, and puts her head down. She feels pathetic. 

“It's not his fault,” Miles tells her. 

“The boss,” Jin confirms with a nod. 

She knows he has to do his job. It just reminds her of the time when he threw himself into it so hard she never saw him at all. She missed him then. For it to happen the day after she kissed him... she knows it's not his fault, but it feels like rejection. The rejection she was so afraid of. 

She straightens herself up and stiffens her spine. He just has to work. She's not possessive. They clean up their table and return home. Juliet turns her head to look at James's house, but it's dark, with no lights on anywhere. Miles and Jin wouldn't lie for him anyway. She hates that's been one day and she's already thinking about lies. 

She's expecting the worst, and she can't help it. It's not a judgment on James. It's the weight of her experience. 

They play Monopoly with Shirley and Chad and Chad's new roommate, Gary, who came on the sub and moved in on the day James moved out. When she gets sent to Jail again, she decides she's done. She hands her money to Miles and gets up. “That's not how it works,” Gary protests, but she keeps walking back to her room. 

She closes the door and reaches for her pajamas. She won't be going to him, and she knows he won't be coming to their house. She thinks about that for a second. She knows he won't come to her. She pulls that old bright blue t-shirt of his over her head instead and curls up in the chair by the window. When she rests her head against the wall, she can see his house. It stays dark inside. She gives up and gets into bed before her roommate comes in and catches her. 

In the morning, she looks to see whether van number four was returned overnight. 

It was. 

But he doesn't come to check out another. 

Eventually Jin shows up and signs out van number 12. That's when Juliet decides James must be avoiding her on purpose. If he has regrets... well, she can get the idea. She's not going to chase him. She's going to protect herself. Even if she hates herself a little bit for feeling that way. 

…

Sawyer feels a little embarrassed when he walks into the cafeteria for dinner several nights later. He came straight from the security office, and he's still in his work clothes. He's hungry, too, because as promised, Miles stopped bringing meals to him. Sawyer kept kind of hoping Juliet would show up with a sandwich, but it's just as well she didn't. He wouldn't have had time, and he would have wanted to have time. A lot of time. 

He's picked up a takeout box and is headed back to the security office when he runs into Miles, Jin and Juliet. They're on their way out. 

“Oh look,” Miles says. “A rare guest appearance by LaFleur.” He gives a light golf clap. 

“Shut it,” Sawyer says. “You know Horace's been runnin' my ass ragged all over the island.” He hangs his head a little and looks at Juliet. 

It's a long moment before she turns her head and gives him a cool look. It puts his stomach in knots, that look. “Nice to see you, James.” 

“It's good to see you too,” he says, and means it. Her gaze lingers on him. “You got plans?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. 

“Keep me company,” he says. He senses a little hesitation from her before she looks at Miles and Jin, like she's giving them the OK. It's what keeps him from reaching for her hand as they walk outside together. 

“Where have you been lately?” she asks.

“Miss me?” He grins, and her expression doesn't change. He remembers her telling him that his charm doesn't work on her. He didn't really believe her, but at times like this... 

They pause at the door of his house while he turns they key and then pushes the door open. She walks inside and turns on the lights. He puts the takeout box down on the coffee table, which is littered with security notes. “I gotta wash up,” he says, and heads down the hall. He's a little afraid that when he gets back she'll be gone. He's not really sure why he's getting such a cold vibe from her. 

Unless she regrets kissing him the other day. 

He emerges in jeans and one of his tighter t-shirts. She's sitting on the couch, not really looking at anything. She raises her eyebrows at him a little when he sits down next to her and grabs the takeout box. “Sorry, I gotta eat something,” he says. “You want some?” 

“No,” she says. “I finished Dune.” 

“Oh yeah?” he asks, with his mouth full. “You like it? There's sequels. Well, sequel right now. More later. Guess you'll have to wait.” 

“I can wait,” she says. 

“You didn't like it,” he says, feeling a little disappointed.

“It was fine,” she protests. “I didn't not like it.” He eats. “So where have you been lately?” 

“You never answered my question about missin' me,” he teases. 

“You didn't answer mine.” 

“The Arrow, mostly,” he replies honestly. “With a couple trips to some of the other stations.” 

“Is something going on?” Her eyes search his. 

“Horace wants to be ready.” 

“Ready for what?” she asks. He sighs, wondering if it was such a good idea to bring this up. “James? Ready for what?” He looks at her. “I don't have a badge embroidered on my pocket so you don't trust me now?” Her voice is starting to rise. 

“I trust you,” he says, and means it. “There were some skirmishes last year. He doesn't want it to happen again, is all.” 

“That was before the truce,” Juliet points out.

He shrugs. “I'm keepin' the peace.” He gives her a long look. “Why don't you say what you really want to say?” 

“Since you're so good at reading minds, why don't you say it for me?” 

“You think I ditched you.” He spits out the words.

“I do think you ditched me,” she confirms. “You got scared and ran off, or you just changed your mind. We kissed, that was it. Maybe... it's not that big a deal.” 

“Did you change your mind about me?” he asks. He's being serious now. He needs to know if she's bluffing to try to save face, or save her own feelings, or if it really didn't mean that much to her after all that time and build-up. 

“Did you?” she shoots back. 

“No,” he says, and he can be honest because now he knows she is bluffing. “It was a big deal.” 

“Then maybe we should talk about this,” she says. 

“I can think of better things to do with our mouths,” he replies smoothly. 

“Is this what it's going to be like?” 

“Hey, you knew who I was before you started this.” 

“I started it?” 

“You kissed me first,” he points out. 

He watches the emotions cross her face as she thinks up and discards comebacks for that. She ends up just looking at him like she's about to fall apart. 

“Hey,” he says, gently. Backtracking wildly. “I kissed you second.” He puts his hands on her face. “And it's all I been thinkin' about since then.” He leans in and presses his mouth to hers, then draws back to look at her again. She's kind of smiling now, but she looks away. “Don't think you're getting off that easy.” He gives her another soft kiss. She's starting to relax now. To believe him. 

He understands. 

He doesn't believe it, either. 

He kisses her again, but this time, even though he wants it to be another one of those soft little presses of his lips to hers, he can't help himself. Her lips part under his and he kisses her more deeply. She touches his face and he groans as she leans in to him. Part of him wants to break the kiss to look at her again. To see if she has any more smart remarks, or maybe just to see her with a dazed look in her blue eyes. But he can't make himself pull away. 

They keep kissing. He strokes her side, through her shirt, maneuvering her so she's lying down and he's halfway on top of her and halfway caught in the crease of the couch. She moves her head like she's uncomfortable and bucks her hips in a way that makes his breath catch. “Hair's caught,” she says. 

He lets her go and sits back. She goes up on her elbows, looking at him. “This couch is really uncomfortable.” 

“Bed?” he suggests, a little hopefully. 

“I don't sleep with guys on the first date,” she says. “So you have at least two dates to plan.” 

“What have we been doing so far?” Sawyer protests. 

“Making out on your couch isn't a date.” 

He swings his hair back out of his eyes. “You sure?” 

She rewards him with that little smirk of hers. “Very sure.” 

“I never figured you for a rule follower,” he growls, giving her a look that's her warning that he's going to pounce again in a second. 

“Oh, James, you have no idea,” she replies. 

He reaches down and sweeps her hair free from underneath her shoulders. Then he just looks at her for a long moment. He's memorizing the expression in her eyes, wide and looking at him. He caresses her face and then leans down to kiss her again. Her arms go around him, pulling him against her. Her fingers find their way under his shirt in the back. He puts his hand on her ribs again, feeling her breathing fast and shallow. He wants so badly to slide his hand up, but she's been so prickly tonight. He doesn't want to rush it and have her shut him down. 

Her tongue strokes his in a way that makes him shiver. Very deliberately, he pushes his hand up along her ribs until he reaches the softness of the side of her breast. She makes a little noise and he pulls back. “We should go slow,” she says, with a little wrinkle of a frown between her eyebrows. 

He sighs. “I don't really do slow.” But he moves his hand, and retreats back to his side of the couch again. She sits up, facing him. She looks like she's been well-kissed, with her lips pink and swollen and her eyes dark. It makes him want to kiss her again. 

“You don't do slow? That's why it took you so long to not make a move,” she says. 

“So we're talking now,” he says, with a little roll of his eyes. Fine, they can hash this out if she wants to. “Look, when you first meet a lady and she tases you in the neck, you might get the impression she don't like you.” He says it as lightly as he can, because he likes her well enough now. 

“You would have fought if I hadn't.” 

“I don't hit anyone smaller or weaker than me.” 

“You would have fought me, James.” 

“Hell yes, I would have fought. You're tough. You've had some kinda training, and you're a better shot than me.” He grins at her slyly. “I meant someone like Jack. Or a puppy.” Saying Jack's name hurts. He wishes he hadn't. 

Until she smiles at him for real and says, “I hit Jack. I punched him. Right in the face.” 

“Oh really. Do tell.” 

“He was doing something stupid and trying to get us killed.” 

“That sounds like Jack,” Sawyer agrees. “He's hit me plenty.” 

“Maybe you deserved it.” 

“Maybe I did,” he allows, since he knows he was usually goading Jack into it. Because he wanted it. That fist in his face, punishing him. He looks at her and she's looking away. He knows she's thinking dark thoughts herself about that time. It wasn't exactly making out on the couch. Something he'd like to get back to. “Wanna wrassle?” 

He grabs one of her wrists, not tight. He'll let her go if she wants. With his other hand he starts tickling the soft skin just under the hem of her shirt. She writhes away but she's yelling and laughing, and with her free hand, she goes after him. He holds his breath, determined not to laugh or let it show that she's affecting him at all. But he can't hold it in forever, especially with her fingers creeping downward into definitely not-taking-it-slow territory. 

He grabs her other hand. “Hey,” he says softly as she tries to pull free. She blinks and looks at him. “That's enough, ticklebug.” 

“You started it,” she says, her voice low and husky. She looks at his mouth and then meets his eyes again. He waits, and lets her kiss him. He's still got her wrists in his hands. She moves like she wants to touch him, but he keeps holding her. His tongue slides into her mouth and she stops struggling after a second. A moment later, he lets go. She touches his face and strokes his hair and he kisses her harder. 

Eventually she pulls away. They're both breathing rough and fast. He wonders if she wants him as bad right now as he wants her, if she's as soft and wet as he is hard and aching. “I better go,” she says, but she doesn't get up. 

“Don't wanna break your rule,” he says, and he can't help a little sarcasm coming through. 

There's a longing in her eyes that says she wants to break it, all right. 

But he also knows she's right. They have time. Rushing it now... it would be doom, and he wants this to last. Needs to have it last. 

“Want me to walk you back?” he asks. 

“You're head of security, you think it's safe?” 

He nods. 

“If you do, you'd get another kiss at the door.” 

“I'm not sure I could take it,” he says. 

She gets up from the couch and then leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Good night, James.” 

“Night,” he says, and puts his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching for her again. He watches her go. The door closes soundly behind her. He closes his eyes and puts his head back for a long moment, then pushes up from the couch, headed for the shower. 

…

The next morning, James arrives bright and early at the motor pool. Just like he was doing before he got too busy. She can't hide how happy she is to see him. She wants to throw her arms around him, but she can't. He gives her a grin that makes her heart melt a little. The morning is refreshingly cool, with a breeze. It teases his hair and the sun catches the blond highlights in it. 

“What're you up to today?” he asks her. 

“Number six carburetor.” 

“Again?” 

“Again,” she confirms. “One of these days it'll stay fixed.” 

He scribbles his alias on the checkout sheet. She waits for him to take the keys from her hand, wishing he could stay. “What about you?” she asks. 

“Runnin' around the jungle, probably,” he says. He puts his hand down on top of hers. Not holding it, exactly, but keeping it where it is. “We should go out.” 

“Now?” She's kidding. 

“Let's go on a date.” 

“Are you going to ask me?” she asks in a low voice, giving him a look. 

“Are you gonna make me?” 

She just keeps looking at him. 

“What, are you gonna turn me down?” 

She asks herself why she's doing this. Why she's making it so painful for him, and why she feels the need to try to make him follow some script that's obviously not him. She knows it's fear, somewhere deep down inside her, trying to get out. They're stuck on the island together in the wrong damn time zone, probably forever and that is potentially terrifying. Because if they get together, they can split up, and then they'll be both adrift and alone.

But she wants to be happy, and she wants him to be happy. “Okay,” she says. 

“Okay,” he repeats, like he's feeling satisfied with himself. “I'm hoping I'll make it back for lunch today.” 

“Nice try,” she says. “Lunch doesn't count.” 

“C'mon. Why not?” 

“It's lunch?” she says. She's amused by this. 

“You're really not gonna let me off that easy?” 

“No.” She knows they're not talking about dating here, really. They're talking about sex. She knows he thinks this rule or requirement of hers is stupid. She would agree, but she's learned from past experience that rushing into things leads to heartbreak. Which is why she made the rule for herself. 

And part of her wants to savor this. The build up. The excitement and anticipation. 

She also doesn't want to get her heart broken, but if she's honest with herself, it's probably much too late for that. 

“Still thinking you'll make it back for lunch?” she asks. 

“Gonna try.” He squeezes her hand a little and then lifts his. 

She places the keys in it. “Drive safe.” 

“See ya soon,” he says, and for a second she thinks he's going to lean in for a kiss right there in front of Matt and everybody. But he just gives her a nod and starts to walk away. He looks back at her. She lifts a hand to wave, and watches him drive away. 

She should have known that “I'll try to be back for lunch” meant he'd disappear on her again. 

“You've seen him, though?” she questions Miles, several days later. She refuses to haunt the places she thinks she might find James – the basketball court, the rec room library, his doorstep. She feels a lack of pride in even bringing it up with Miles, but she just has to know he's safe. 

“I've seen him,” Miles says. “I don't know what he's up to, but he's in the security office at odd hours. Meeting with the boss. Stuff like that.” 

“Do you...” she stops. She's not sure she wants to say it out loud, much less to Miles. She keeps promising herself not to have doubts, and then James keeps doing this. “Do you think it's real?” 

“What's real?” Miles looks alarmed. 

“Whatever he's doing. It's not just some excuse.” 

“Yeah, it's real,” Miles says. “Otherwise I'd kick his ass for you.” 

“I can kick it myself. Well. I'd have to see him first.” She looks at him, and Miles still looks serious about this. “You make a really weird fairy godmother.” 

“Don't let it get around,” he warns her in a dry voice. 

“Your secret's safe with me,” she promises. 

Another couple of days drift by, and she knows what she has to do. She goes home after work and changes out of her jumpsuit with determination, into a pair of jeans and a tank top. Juliet faces herself in the mirror, asking herself if she's really going to go through with it. She decides she is. 

She sets out on foot, like she's just taking a walk around the barracks. Then she turns right and makes a beeline for the sonic fence. She keys in the code and steels herself before she takes the steps to cross the invisible line. Because it will fry you on the way out just like on the way in, and she never quite trusts the codes. Thirty years from now, it's decaying and they keep it going as best they can out of necessity. 

The blue van pulls up while she's still inputting the code to reactivate the fence from the other side. She stops, waiting for the door to open. It does, but it's Miles there, not James, and he's alone. He approaches her carefully, even though she's just standing there waiting, he acts like he thinks she's going to run or turn on him. There's no point in running. 

He does surprise her when he pulls out the handcuffs. 

“I'm not resisting,” she points out. 

“Orders are orders,” Miles says, as he snaps them on her wrists. She feels embarrassed by it. He walks her back to the van and in spite of herself, she kind of wants to start crying. She's done enough bad things in the past three years that she thought she was immune to it, this feeling deep down that she's done something wrong, that she's in trouble. 

It would be the ultimate irony, she thinks, if James is at this moment sitting in the cafeteria eating dinner wondering where they are.


	2. Chapter 2

“Caught this one going through the fence, Jim,” Miles says from the doorway of Sawyer's office. 

“I don't need to see 'em.” Sawyer doesn't look up from the map he's studying. “Stick 'em in the clink.” 

“Jim,” Miles says, and it's enough to make Sawyer raise his head. 

“Son of a bitch,” he says. “Juliet?” She's standing there in handcuffs. Her cheeks are red, with embarrassment or anger. He's not sure which. 

“Nice to see you,” she says, and he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. 

“Come on, it's this way,” Miles says, tugging at the handcuffs to lead her to the single jail cell. “Then I'm heading home.” 

Sawyer sits at his desk, listening to the metal door of the jail cell swing closed and then the key in the lock. Miles's footsteps echo as he leaves. Sawyer stares down at the maps, but he's not seeing them. He sighs heavily and folds up the maps and locks them in his desk. He emerges from his office for the first time in what feels like days. His head kind of hurts and he's so, so tired. 

Jerry and Phil from the night shift are on camera duty. Jerry's eyes are closing. Phil watches intently, eagerly. 

“Gonna interrogate the prisoner,” Sawyer says, unnecessarily. He doesn't have to explain himself to these bozos; he's the boss. 

He stops in the entryway. Juliet's sitting on the cot, with her knees apart and her head down. Her wrists are still in the handcuffs. She must sense him, because she raises her head. Her eyes are glittery and cold. 

“First time?” he asks. 

“I've been outside the fence before,” she says. They both know it's not what he meant. 

“Why'd you do it?” 

“Shirley's got a new boyfriend. I figured this way I could get a quiet night's sleep,” she says, in that completely straight-faced way she has of being sarcastic. “Why do you think?” 

“I asked you first,” he says gently. 

She hunches her shoulders and puts her head back down. Mumbles something almost inaudible. A second later, his ears decode it as, “It's the only way I'd ever see you again.” 

It hurts. “I'm trying to keep you safe. Keep everyone here safe.” 

“No one works this hard unless there's something they're trying to avoid.” She sounds completely miserable, like she's speaking from experience. He takes a deep breath, but doesn't argue. She looks at him and she's angry. “You can just say no.” 

“I don't want to say no,” he tells her in a soft voice. Being honest. He wants her in a way he's only ever wanted revenge, before, and he knows he's not handling it very well. He can't say any of that, so he asks, “Did you eat before your crime spree?” 

“Bring me bread and water,” she says. 

He leaves her there. Crashes through the doors into the surveillance area, where Phil and Jerry are both predictably focused on the camera in the jail cell. “You two got the night off,” Sawyer says. 

“You sure you don't need backup?” Phil asks with thinly veiled contempt. “The prisoner looks dangerous.” Jerry snorts with laughter. 

“I can handle the prisoner,” Sawyer says. “Go on, get, before I change my mind and make you run maneuvers instead.” He doesn't have to say it twice. 

He gives her a long look on the monitor before he leaves on his errand. He comes back with a paper sack from the cafeteria. Putting his keys in his pocket, he returns to the cell. 

She's still sitting there with her head down. “How's that life of crime treatin' you?” he asks. 

“I thought you liked your women in handcuffs,” she says. It's a low blow and it takes him a little by surprise. But he knows how it feels, the first time, with four walls pressing in on you. It's hard to fight the self loathing. 

“Who's in a cage now,” he says, knowing he shouldn't. He unlocks the door. 

“You bring your taser?” 

“From the future? Fresh out.” He sits down next to her on the cot and puts the cafeteria bag between them. 

He reaches for her hands, in the cuffs. At first she pulls back, away from him, startled. She meets his eyes and then lets him. The tiny key on his keyring springs the lock. He folds up the cuffs. Then he turns over her wrists, inspecting the soft, pale skin there. There's a dark pink mark, but he thinks it was just from the pressure of how she was sitting. He ghosts over it with his fingers, listening to her inhale. 

He meets her eyes, and the look they share goes on a moment too long. He looks away, pulling a baguette out of the sack from the cafeteria and putting it into her hands. 

Then he picks up the cafeteria bag and goes out of the cell. He pulls the door closed behind him and locks it. She's watching him. “Everybody who breaks the rule gets a night on ice. No exceptions.” He watches her absorb this, then he sits down on the floor on the other side of the bars and digs in to the cafeteria bag for his own dinner. 

“You sit with all your prisoners?” she asks. She rips off a piece of bread. 

“Only the pretty ones.” He eyes his dinner and sighs. “I'm tired of sandwiches.” 

“I love sandwiches,” she declares. “There's something just so perfect and simple about them.” 

“And the toothpicks,” he says, because he remembers her saying something about that before. 

“That too.” Her eyes light up that he remembered. “This bread is amazing.” She takes a little breath. “Thank you.” 

“This count as a date?” 

She laughs out loud. He likes the sound of it. “No,” she declares. “You still want to?” 

“It's the only thing keeping me going.” He stretches, unfolding one leg and shifting his back. 

“Why don't you delegate? Or just tell Horace no?” 

“It's secret stuff I can't delegate.” 

“Secret like what?” she asks. When he doesn't answer, she says, “James. I know things.” 

He hadn't really thought about that. “What kind of things? Do the Hostiles attack? Do we have enough ammo, and weapons if they do?”

“I hate calling them Hostiles,” she says, but he keeps talking over her:

“Are any of the experiments safe? Do they find out about Room 23?” 

She flinches and he looks at her. Intrigued now. 

“You know about Room 23.” 

“I've been in Room 23,” she admits. “That's a Dharma thing?” 

“You thought it was an Others thing?” 

“What does Dharma do in Room 23?” she asks. 

“It's secret.” 

“But I already know about it.” 

“Then why are you asking?” 

“You don't trust me,” she says dismissively, and maybe she's right. He's remembering her time on the beach, asking questions, gathering information, which she just reported back to Ben. She speaks Latin and knows all the other things the Others did in their secret society. And the Others are the Hostiles. The Hostiles will be the Others, later. 

But later is not now. She's with him now. “There's this guy named Oldham,” he says. “Chemist. Mixes up some kind of drugs. Then they stick them in Room 23 to get 'em to spill their guts with some kind of Clockwork Orange mind control.” 

“Who's they?” 

“Dharma.” He hesitates, licking his lips. “Kidnaps the Hostiles and puts them in Room 23. Then wipes their memories and puts them back out in the jungle.” 

“They what?” She drops the bread. “Is that what you're doing working 24 hours a day?” 

“No,” he says, holding up his hands. “No way. They just clued me in.” 

“What about the truce? They're kidnapping and torturing people now? But they wanted to blame us for messing up the truce?” She stops, with more realization dawning. “Amy and Paul weren't just on a picnic, were they? They were bait. In a trap.” 

“We're lucky we didn't end up in Room 23,” Sawyer says, and she visibly shivers at the thought. 

“What other experiments are they doing?” she asks. 

“Isn't that enough?” 

“Yes. It is. But I know there's more,” she says. “So Dharma was unethical and corrupt and not a utopia at all. Surprise.” 

“We could go live with the very ethical Others instead,” he shoots back. 

“Not Others yet,” she says. “I notice you're not complaining.” 

“I'm not sayin' I like it.” 

“Says the con man with the badge,” she points out. 

“Fine, I'm crooked too. So are you.” He's irritated by her judging him when she has no room to talk.

“This is why I didn't want to be a doctor here. They do experiments on people. They'd probably love to take Miles apart to figure out why he can hear the dead speak.” 

“That's not going to happen.” For starters, they're not going to find out about Miles, and for second, Sawyer wouldn't let them touch any of his people. 

“It could,” she says. 

“You wishin' you got on that sub now?” 

“Is that why you told me?” 

“Do you always answer a question with a question?” 

She cracks a smile. “Do I?” She puts her head in her hands, dinner abandoned. “What are you going to do?” she asks, and it's muffled. 

“Nothin'. Keep my head down. Keep people safe. Build some kinda life.” 

“Okay,” she says, after taking some times to think about it. 

“Okay?” He doesn't expect her to give in to anything that easily. 

“Okay,” she says again. Her eyes search his face. “Are you going to keep working 24 hours a day? You look exhausted.” 

“Thanks,” he snaps. “I'll talk to Horace.” He means it. 

“Do you want to come in here and get some sleep?” Juliet offers, stretching out her fingers on the surface of the narrow cot. 

“Does Barbie really have a new boyfriend?” 

“Sadly, yes, that's true,” Juliet says. “I mean, not sad for her. Sad for the rest of us that wanted to sleep.” 

“They really...?” 

Juliet rolls her eyes and nods emphatically. 

“You wanna come stay at my house?” He says it like it means nothing, but it's a real offer. One he finds he wouldn't mind her taking him up on.

“Are you going to start using your house?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then no.” 

“I got a couch,” he points out. If she came to live with him, though, neither one of them would be sleeping on that couch for long. 

“Your couch is too uncomfortable to sleep on,” she says. “But thank you. You're going to get sore sitting on the floor like that.” 

She's right. He sighs, and picks up the remains of his dinner. He wads up the bag and takes it out of the holding area with him. When he returns, he's got a chair. He turns it around and straddles it, resting his forearms on the backrest. He watches her watching him, then her eyes move up to the ceiling. He swings around to see what she's looking at. It's the camera. 

“Picture but no sound,” he says. 

“Room 23's at the Hydra. Have you been going out there?” she asks. “No wonder you're tired.” 

“Got a boat,” he says. “Don't have to swim. Or row.” 

“I'm not sure anyone could make the swim,” she says. “Though the sharks must still be in the tank at this point. Still, it's a long way.” 

“I saw the bears,” he says. It's reminded him of something he was curious about. “In my old bunk. And I got to thinkin'. That old guy Other. He told me the bears figured out that contraption in a couple hours. Did the Others keep up the experiments when they took over the place?” 

She shakes her head. “They let the animals go.” 

“How'd that all go down? Dharma just pack up'n leave or die out when hippies stopped being a thing? And if Dharma's done with, why'd all the food say it on there?”

“The Others – Hostiles – took over at some point. I'm not sure when. Ben was involved. They killed almost everyone, but some of the Dharma Initiative were spared. Maybe Tom? I think Mikhail, too. Jacob had a list. Jacob always had a list.” 

“Who the hell is Jacob?” Sawyer asks. 

“He controls the island. And the Others. No one ever sees him.” 

“Then how's he got a list?” Sawyer asks, and she shrugs. “That's what Room 23's about. Finding out about Jacob. They think he's some kind of island god.” 

“They might be right,” she says. “I just stayed in my lab.” She looks at him and he looks back. “We get a night together and this is what we do. Talk about island history.” 

“What are we supposed to talk about?” he asks, putting a seductive note into his voice. 

“What did you think when you met me?” 

“'Don't tase me'?” he offers, joking. But then he gets it. “You want me to say I thought you were pretty.” 

“Pretty's such a girl word. Guys don't think 'oh, she's pretty,' do they? Maybe hot, or gorgeous, or beautiful --” 

“How hard are you fishin' here?” he asks. “I was interested, okay?” 

Her smirk slowly curls into a smile. “I thought you looked like someone on the cover of a romance novel.” 

“I'm takin' that as a compliment.” 

“You should,” she says. “If you don't like sandwiches, what do you like?” 

“I'm tired of sandwiches,” he says. “I like 'em fine. Why, you gonna bring me dinner?” 

“I could,” she offers, giving him hope for just a moment before she smashes it. “If I was an enabler.” 

“Cafeteria's open at four a.m. for box lunches for workers on the early shift,” he says. “I ain't gonna starve, eating sandwiches.” 

“Seriously, though,” she says, with a tilt of her head like she's studying him. “What do you like?” 

“I been stranded on a desert island for three months. I like food.” 

“I miss Cuban food. And street tacos.” 

“Where'd you get a taste for that?” he asks. 

“I lived in Miami. My sister's still there. Well, not now. Later.” 

“Tell me about your sister,” he invites. It takes the focus off of him, and he finds that he wants to know.

“Her name's Rachel. She's three years older. She... she has a good heart, you know?” She sighs, and her eyes are filling with tears. “She named her son after me. I've never met him.” 

“She named her son Juliet?” he cracks, hoping to lighten things up. 

“Julian,” she corrects, and she's laughing and crying at the same time for a second, before she wipes her eyes. “He'd be three. Then. Now he's like negative twenty-seven? God, imagine that. You're seven years old, running around, being a kid, popping the heads off your little sister's dolls, and there's this giant, cosmic countdown clock to this thing that's going to happen someday, to all these things that are going to happen someday, to you, that leads to a whole other person in the world that's part of you but separate. That's weird. This is weird.” 

“We all got our countdown clocks,” he says, and it's dark, because he's thinking about the past ticking down in front of them. It's two years until 1976, until his family dies and he becomes the man he is today. 

“The future for us is set in stone because it's the past, but at the same time, our future isn't written yet. Who knows what could happen to us in another three years.” 

“You don't think we're goin' home?” 

“I don't know,” she says. “I don't know how we could. I don't know how we got here.” 

“Locke'll be back.” He doesn't know why he believes this, but he does. 

“If he comes back, will it be to 1974 or 2004?” 

“This is makin' my head hurt,” Sawyer says. Trying to talk about time, or when things happened or when things will happen, it's all a tangled mess.

“Did you wear glasses before you came here?” she asked. 

“Never needed 'em,” he says. “Doc said it was cause I did so much reading on the beach.” 

“I'm sure it's just normal aging,” she says. “As we get older, the cornea becomes much less flexible so it's harder to bring things into focus, or to shift focus between far and near. That's why people end up needing reading glasses.” 

“Thank you, Doctor Eckleburg,” he says sarcastically, because he doesn't like to think about it. Thirty-five don't seem so bad until things like your eyes start failing you. 

“What are we going to do about Miles,” she says, stretching her arms up and back. “Our fairy godmother.” 

“Don't let him hear you say that,” Sawyer cautions. 

“I already did. He needs... someone. Something. I don't know what.” 

“He'll figure it out when he's good and ready,” Sawyer says. If they're going to jump around in subjects, he has something he wants to know. He thinks maybe now she'll tell him. “Why did you tell Sayid that if he knew everything you'd done, he'd kill you?” 

“When was that?” she asks, a frown crossing her face. 

“While back. Not long after you came to the beach.” 

“Do you have a photographic memory?” Her eyes are suddenly wide and sparkling with interest, looking at him differently. Like he's different. 

“What kinda question's that?” he asks. 

“You were telling me something Tom told you about the polar bears.”

“Cause he was insulting me,” Sawyer bristles. “There's plenty I don't remember.” 

“You have a photographic memory for insults and slights,” she says. 

“If that's what you wanta call it.” 

“I do that too. I'll remember something stupid I said four years ago and get embarrassed about it again.” she smiles at him, and he believes it. 

“Finally we got something in common,” he says, and it's sarcastic. She takes it as serious, though, because she gives him a confused look for a moment and he knows she's thinking they have plenty in common, like reading books or being blond. “They ever put you in that room? When you were an Other?” 

“No,” she answers, but she's holding something back. He files it away. “There were other punishments.” 

He frowns, wanting to know what she means. He wants to know about what the Others did in Room 23. Thinking back on the few minutes he spent in there, busting out Karl, are enough to give him the creeps. Before he can ask, she's changing the subject again. 

“Would you ever want your memory wiped out?” she asks. “Erased, to forget the bad things? Or the good things?” 

He thinks about it. “Not so long ago my answer might've been yes.” He looks at her, hard. “But what's done is done. A man wants to change, he has to do it himself. No mind control, no magic room.” 

“I think we all have moments that it would be tempting to erase,” she says. 

“They just give 'em something for the short term,” he says. “Like at the dentist.” 

But she's not talking about Room 23 anymore. “It would be a form of time traveling, wouldn't it? Instead of stopping something from happening, like Daniel says we can't, it just wouldn't be there anymore. In your head.” 

“You tryin'a tell me something?” he asks, because he's not following at all anymore. 

She shoots him a little smile. “It was just a question.” 

“We oughta play I Never.” 

“Can't play a drinking game without drinks,” she points out. 

“Raincheck, then,” he says. 

“This is nice.” She lifts her hair off her neck and twists it and then lets it go. “Talking.” 

“I know what'd be nicer,” he says. 

“There's cameras,” she points out. 

“And you're in jail,” he reminds her. 

“Too bad we didn't get arrested together. Then we'd both be on this side.” She stands up from the cot and walks over to the bars. Sawyer watches her from his chair. Juliet's hands wrap around the iron bars and she cocks her head, looking at him. It's like a siren's call. He gets up and goes over to her. 

She reaches through the wide food-tray slot and he takes her hand in his. They both look down at his meaty hand engulfing her slim one. She squeezes and he squeezes back. Suddenly they're both grinning at each other and he can feel the muffled thud of his heart in his ears. 

“You still got about six hours on your sentence,” he says. Not quite sure where he's going with it. 

“Okay,” she says, very seriously. 

He sighs, and knows what has to be done. “Get some shuteye.” 

“Only if you do, too,” she says. “You look exhausted.” He sees something a little like worry in her expression, as she looks at him. 

They keep standing there, with him holding her hand. She looks at him questioningly. “Not even a little goodnight kiss through the bars?” he asks, and gives her a teasing grin. He watches the effect it has on her. “You torment me.” 

“I'm not sure how that would work,” she says. She presses two fingers to her lips and then reaches through and presses those fingers against his lips, transferring the kiss to him. He presses his lips to her fingers, his eyes staring into hers with the desire for so much more. Then she slips away, and he releases her, sighing with the sweetness of it. 

He goes back to his chair and watches her curl up on her side on the cot. She draws up her knees, watching him, and then she closes her eyes. 

…

Juliet's awake. 

It felt good to lie down, after a long day of working and then a long night of talking. It almost seemed a shame to have him here and not take advantage of the time, when they'd had so little time together recently. 

But she saw how his shoulders hunched. There are pouches under his eyes that were never there before, smudged purple from overwork and not sleeping. It's not like him, but at the same time it is. 

He's trying to change. He's trying so hard. It's the same as on the beach, it's just coming out in a different way. There, he sat back but manipulated things so that they would need him. Here, he's working his tail off trying to prove he's useful. That he deserves a place. He doesn't understand that he's already earned it. They no more would have abandoned him or left him to starve on the beach than Horace is likely to take away his security badge now. 

She's not sure James will ever be able to see it. Or believe it. That's what will take the real change, deep down inside the man. 

She understands it. She's done it before, herself. She worked the long hours in her lab, both on the island and before. She was trying to prove herself worthy. 

The difference is, she's been through all those things he fears the most. The Others left her behind, abandoned her. The group on the beach loathed her. She still remembers the way it felt, deep inside her bones. Given half the chance, without their respect for Jack, they would have left her, too, or killed her outright. James would have been first in line to do it. 

She survived. 

James is a survivor, too. 

She thinks he forgets that, or maybe he doesn't realize it. He's already used three or four of what must be his nine lives, and he survived all of it. 

She sighs and shifts on the hard cot. He's sleeping now, straddling that turned-around chair. One arm is slung over the back and his head rests against it. His hair is tawny in the dim light down here. It falls across his cheek. His lips are slightly parted and every so often he mumbles or sighs. She wonders what he dreams about. 

She thinks about him sleeping next to her, in the future they might have together. If they can manage it.

Juliet lets her eyes drift closed, still thinking about him. 

The next thing she knows is Miles's voice, yelling, from somewhere distant. “You here, Jim? I'm coming in!” 

What does Miles think he's going to find, that he has to announce himself? 

She opens her eyes and watches James awaken. His eyes open and then focus as he takes in the scene. He lifts his head and shakes his hair back automatically. He folds his outstretched arm and puts his hand on the back of the chair and then pushes up to his feet. She can tell by the way he moves that his back is sore. 

Miles appears in the doorway. “You guarding the prisoner?” he asks. 

“Somethin' like that.” James wipes his mouth with his hand and then stretches a little. 

“Long night?” Miles asks, teasing, with light in his eyes. “I still can't believe she --” 

“She's awake,” James interrupts. “Rise'n shine, buttercup.” 

Her ruse complete, she sits up. “Morning, Miles.” She drags her fingers through the ends of her tangled hair. 

“I don't get a good morning?” James bristles. 

“Good morning,” she says, slipping her feet back into her shoes, having kicked them off before she lay down. “Are you going to let me out?” 

“Might have to keep you another day,” James says and shoots her the full dimpled grin. He's already reaching for his keyring. He doesn't stop looking at her as he says, “Miles, you got camera duty goin' on right now.” 

“I'll leave you two alone,” Miles says, and makes his exit, rolling his eyes. 

The key turns in the lock and the door squeals as it swings open. Juliet walks out of the cell and somehow the air seems different – fresher, cooler. She stretches, her skin feeling hot with the knowledge that James is watching every move and every curve. “I'm going to go home and take a nice long nap.” 

“Little matter of that goodnight kiss before you do.” James's voice is low and dangerous. 

She wants his hands on her as she walks up to him and stops, standing in front of him. Slowly she raises her head to look him in the eye. He lets out a long breath. The moment stretches on, the tension and heat rising between them. Then he tilts his head to one side, closing his eyes, moving in to kiss her. 

His lips touch hers and she feels that delicious, slow melting inside her, even as his kiss is tentative at first. He commanded it, but he's asking now. She opens her mouth and kisses him back. He puts his hands on her lower back, pulling her against him. His body is hot and solid, and he shifts his feet so he can get closer, pressing her hips into his. 

The kiss ends and he pulls his head back a little, breathing hard. He's still holding her. “Good night.” 

She runs one hand along the side of his face, tempted to kiss him again. “Night,” she says, and slips away. 

“Bye!” Miles calls out behind her as she walks out of the security center. 

…

Sawyer starts for home, but changes his mind halfway there. He walks into Horace's office with determined steps. 

His boss looks at him with determined steps. “What can I do for you, Jim?” 

“I'm done working twenty-four seven,” he declares. “Runnin' all over the jungle for your circle of trust. Not sleepin', not eatin', not getting any personal time --” As he rants, he becomes aware that Horace is looking at him with a smile on his face, like he's terribly amused. “What?” 

Horace takes off his glasses and starts cleaning them with his sleeve. “I wondered how long it would take. That's all.” 

“You wanna kick me off your island, fine,” Sawyer declares. That's going too far, and he didn't mean to say it. But he decides he's bluffing. 

“I appreciate how gung-ho you've been.” Horace puts his glasses back on. “It's admirable. But I never expected you to.” 

“You're the one orderin' me to Hydra and Arrow and here and there,” Sawyer says. But he sees the look on Horace's face and suddenly he gets it. Horace was pushing to find LaFleur's breaking point. And here he is, playing out the scene as planned. “You were waitin' for this right here.”

“It was important for you to know about all the stations. Everything we have going on here.” 

And it was important for Horace to find out how far he could go. “I think I got it now, Chief.” He wets his lips. “And I'm takin' the rest of the day off,” he declares. 

“That's fine,” Horace says. “I do need you at the Hydra tomorrow, and the boat leaves at six in the morning. After that, your schedule is your own.” 

Alcatraz continues to give Sawyer the heebie-jeebies, but he can do it. “Agreed,” he says. 

Horace picks up a file folder and begins to page through it. Dismissing him. But for some reason Sawyer doesn't go. Horace looks at him. “Is there something else I can help you with, Jim?” 

“Where in the hell do people go for dates around here?” he asks, the words tumbling out in a burst.

Horace smiles and it's a real smile for once. “The lovely Juliet,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Sawyer sighs, and sits down in the chair facing Horace's desk. 

“We have activities,” Horace says. “I'm sure you've seen the schedule. The movie Westworld is showing in the rec room tomorrow night.” 

“You really ain't got any better ideas?” 

“You could take her on a picnic. Inside our territory, of course.” 

Sawyer scoffs. Every picnic he's seen on this island so far has ended up with somebody dead. The scene replays in his head with Amy screaming, and the Hostile aiming at him. Hearing the crack and how his whole body went cold realizing he hadn't pulled his own trigger and gotten a shot off first to take him out, knowing this was going to be the end of him. Watching the Hostile drop, in a moment of confusion before he realized it was Juliet. Juliet was faster on the trigger. Fastest. 

“You have a really nice house, LaFleur,” Horace suggests. 

“Thanks,” Sawyer says, and he means it. 

“Six a.m.,” Horace reminds him. “Tomorrow.” It is a clear dismissal this time, and Sawyer goes. 

He ambles back toward the house. He thinks about stopping off to see her, but he imagines she's curled up in her soft bed by now, wearing those blue-flowered pjs. His feet almost take the detour to the security office automatically, but he stops himself. He's got the day off. 

As he walks, his shoulders start to slump and his feet start to feel heavy. She told him he looked exhausted, and he's starting to realize she's right. He's starving, and he needs a shower, but more than that, he needs rest. In his house, he strips off his jumpsuit and falls straight into bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Juliet finds herself waiting for James to come around. She had the nap she promised herself, and washed her hair and ate some lunch. It's Saturday and she's got the house to herself, for once. She grabs a book and curls up in the living room. 

At some point, Jin comes in. “Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” she replies. 

“May I sit down?” 

She nods, and he does. He pulls out the English/Korean dictionary that James had ordered, and starts to study. It amuses her to see him reading the dictionary like it's a novel. His lips move as he tries out various words silently. He's really making amazing progress. She wonders if it's out of the same desperation or isolation the rest of them are feeling here, trying to make their new lives in the Dharma Initiative. Or if he's thinking about Sun. 

They read in companionable silence until Miles comes in at the end of his shift. Maybe her eyes are too hopeful on the door when it opens, or too crestfallen when she sees it's just Miles, but he seems to read her thoughts. “He's asleep.” 

“How do you know?” she asks, half expecting to hear they have their creepy surveillance cameras in all the houses somehow. 

“I checked on him,” Miles says. “He didn't answer the door so I let myself in. Found him in the bedroom, dead to the world. He didn't even wake up when I said his name and shook him.” 

“Is he all right?” She's ready to jump up and go to him. 

Miles nods. “Just one tired dude.” 

“Lucky he didn't shoot you,” Jin says. 

Miles shrugs, conceding the point. If he had roused James, he probably would have gotten a pistol in his face for his trouble. “Anyway, I guess he needs the sleep so maybe don't go running over there,” he says pointedly to Juliet. 

“I would never,” she says, and all three of them know it's a lie. 

“Guess you're stuck with us,” Miles adds. “You guys eat yet?” 

“Waiting for you,” Jin replies. 

“Then let's eat,” Miles says. 

Juliet puts her book down carefully. It's another dinner with just the three of them, and her missing James. 

…

He slept for so long that his back hurts, but he feels well rested for the first time in months. Maybe since they landed on this godforsaken rock. Or before. It only seems fair. He slept all day, woke up in the evening to pee and guzzle water and shovel some grub into his growling stomach, and then fell back to sleep.

He had the whole day off and didn't get to spend it with her. But maybe their night together had been enough togetherness for a while. He wasn't sure where the line was, except that lately he'd been on the wrong side of it. 

Sawyer ambles into the cafeteria around five the next morning. He pours some of the overly strong coffee he's been living on lately and takes a sip. It's terrible but delicious, because every time, he thinks of that first taste of it he had after months on the beach. 

“The usual, LaFleur?” calls Orlando, the cook. 

“Please,” he says. Orlando hands him the box lunch. Another day, another damned sandwich. Sawyer stands there, drinking his coffee, watching Orlando fix him an omelet. He nods when he receives the plate, and carries his tray into the dark, empty dining room. 

“You're going to sit all the way over there?” 

He freezes and turns his head. Juliet sits at the table in the corner with a mug and a book. Her eyes are sleepy and her hair is tousled. She smiles and he redirects himself to sit down across from her. 

“Well, well, well. What have we here,” he says. He touches her book to look at the title, and peeks into her mug to see if it's coffee or tea. 

“You said you come here at 4 a.m.,” she says, and blinks slowly at him. “You're late.” 

He's touched that she got up hours before she had to, and sat here for an hour waiting for him. He digs in to the omelet. “Talked to the bossman and we came to an understanding. Aside from havin' to catch a boat at sunrise today, I can set my own hours. Fewer of 'em.” 

“Where's the boat going?” she asked. 

He presses his lips together, unhappy when he thinks about it. “Alcatraz.” 

She doesn't look happy about it either. It symbolizes something for them, but he thinks it's more than that. She thinks it's dangerous. But it's all dangerous. 

“You eat something?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. “Too early.” She sips her tea, and he can smell its fragrance. “You got some sleep.” 

“Had the weirdest dreams though,” he says. “That happen to you? When you ain't been sleeping and you finally do, the dreams are all crazy.” 

“You were catching up,” she says. “The body needs dream sleep.” 

He forks up another bite and gives her a devilish grin. “You ain't gonna ask me what I dreamed?” 

“We all find our own so fascinating, but isn't there a saying about how there's nothing as boring as another person's dreams?” 

“You're s'posed to ask if you were in 'em.” 

She hesitates, and it aches somewhere deep down inside of him. Knowing she's thinking about the other people – person – he might be dreaming about instead. And because she's not wrong. Kate was in the dreams too, like some kind of phantom. He couldn't see her face. She was turned away from him, lost in the fog, with her hair blowing. He reached her, and put out his hand, but when she turned, there was nothing there. She was gone and his fingertips were touching nothing. 

He wasn't going to tell Juliet that one. 

“You ever dream about me?” he asks, keeping that grin on his face. 

Her lips curl into that mild smile that he likes so much. “Maybe,” she says. 

He puts one hand over hers on the table. She meets his eyes curiously. “We got our date tonight,” he says. 

“Is it tonight?” 

“You forget?” 

“I didn't think we'd named a time and a place,” she says. 

“You okay with it?” he asks, his breath getting caught a little bit, wondering if she changed her mind. He forces down the last of his breakfast and washes it down with more hot coffee. He's going to have to get up in a minute, and leave her sitting here, and go back to that other damned island. He doesn't want to. 

“Of course,” she says. “What are we doing?” 

He smiles and doesn't say. Let it be a surprise. “Pick you up at seven-thirty,” he says. He glances at the clock and knows he has to go. “This was nice.” 

“It's the middle of the night,” she protests, and puts her head down on the table. 

He reaches over and puts his hand on her head. He feels the solidness of her skull underneath his palm. Then he lets his fingertips sink into the softness of her hair and messes up the strands, flinging silky curls this way and that. She makes a soft sound and then he feels the trembling of her laughter. She picks up her head and they smile at each other. 

“Time to go,” he says, and rises from the table. He puts his hand on his box lunch. He wants to make her promises that he can't keep. “Seven-thirty.” 

“No kiss?” she asks. 

This is what's dangerous. The way the desire flares and flows through him. He walks over to her side of the table. With his hand on the back of her head, he tilts her face up and then slants his mouth over hers. It's not a morning kind of kiss. It's not a bye-sweetie-have-a-nice-day kind of kiss. It's nighttime and darkness. She puts her hand on his arm, to steady herself or to pull away, he's not sure, because she's kissing him back just as much. 

He wants to push her down on the table and keep going, so he pulls away and steps back. She looks at him with eyes darkened with wanting. She raises her fingers to her kiss-bruised lips and it just about undoes him. His knees feel weak and he holds back a groan. There's nothing he can say, so he turns around and walks away, that image of her burned into his mind. 

He runs to the dock to try to get his body under control and because he's late. “Almost left without you,” Phil says, smug. 

Great, he's got to work with this bozo all day. “Got you an extra lunch, Jim,” Miles says, and Sawyer's relief is palpable. At least there's someone on this launch he can trust. He wonders when he started trusting the ghost whisperer, and that's when he realizes he left his box lunch on the table in the cafeteria. Juliet's not the only one who's got his back. 

…

Juliet sits in the living room, watching the minutes tick by on the clock. She's wearing a skirt and a peasant blouse and sandals, and she put tiny braids in her hair, one on each side, and pulled them back, her preferred hairstyle when she was six years old and it was the seventies for the first time. She's nervous, and she doesn't know why, because it's just James, for crying out loud. 

It's James and that's why she's nervous. 

The knock on the door startles her, then she jumps up to go and open it. He's standing there, of course. He's got on jeans and a button-up shirt that she thinks he probably had to iron. His hair is clean and straight, and she smells the soap from his shower and the subtlest hint of cologne. She wants to bury her nose in his neck so she can get a better sense of it. “You ready?” he asks. 

“She's been waiting,” Miles says, as he and Jin walk into the living room together. He's like the brother she never had, giving up all her secrets. 

“Only a minute,” she says, and it's a lie, but she doesn't want James to think she's willing to sit around waiting for him. This morning in the cafeteria was bad enough. He'll get the wrong idea. 

“C'mon then,” he says, and waits for her to walk in front of him. Miles and Jin fall in behind him, and he stops and turns his head. “Where'd you two think you're going?” 

“We're coming with you,” Miles says, as though it's obvious. “You're going to the movie, right? It's good for Jin's English.” 

“You're comin' on our date?” James asks. 

“Date?” Miles repeats, and he shoots a look at Juliet. She is never going to live this down. 

“Fine, but you ain't sitting with us,” James declares. He gives Juliet a long look, then they go. All four of them cross the lawn to the rec room. 

There's a projector set up inside, with a white screen. Chairs have been set up in rows. Some of the comfortable chairs from along the edges of the rec room have been pressed into service, along with a couple of couches. The place is filling up fast, but James snags a loveseat in the back before one of the other couples can grab it. He grins up at her and pats the seat next to him. 

She stands there for a moment, looking around at the crowd. All these people are going to know they're together. Be the witnesses for their first date. Miles and Jin sit up in the front, and Miles has acquired a bag of popcorn from somewhere. 

“I'll grab us some snacks,” James says, and disappears. 

Juliet sits down and continues people watching, thinking how many of them she knows now. They're starting to be part of the community. She sees Horace and Amy, who are sitting together. Juliet finds this mildly interesting and tucks the thought away. Chad is in the middle of a group of guys. Shirley and her new boytoy have claimed one of the other couches and are already sucking face. Juliet rolls her eyes and hopes they'll get it out of their system. It seems like everyone in town is there, though she doesn't see Matt, or the Changs or –

All the breath goes out of her when she spots the little boy sitting in the front, by himself. And he is a little boy, probably only ten years old, and small for his age. As though he can sense her watching him, he turns his head and his big eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses focus on her. She crosses her legs and shifts her gaze away, looking for James. 

He's ten, she tells herself, over the hard, fast rhythm of her pulse. Ben is ten years old. He can't hurt her. He won't hurt her for another twenty-seven years, and that's in her past. She wonders how this isn't a paradox – how he didn't recognize her, then – but she tries to picture her fourth grade teacher and knows she wouldn't recognize her if the woman was standing in front of her now. She glances at him again and he's turned back around in his chair, not looking at her anymore. 

James returns with a small bag of popcorn and two boxes of candy. “Guess they haven't invented the popcorn bucket yet,” he says. She leans her shoulder against him, starting to relax, and he instantly is on alert. “What's wrong?” 

“Nothing,” she lies coolly. There's a man sitting next to Ben now, popping open a beer. It seems wrong somehow. 

“Raisinets or Snocaps?” James asks. 

“Oh,” she says, coming back to reality. “Whichever ones you don't want.” 

He shrugs and hands her the Raisinets. That makes her realize she really wanted the Snocaps. He'd give them to her if she asked. She hasn't had either in so long. She busies herself opening the candy, which is just in a plain cardboard box. Not everything is wrapped in plastic yet. 

“You look nice tonight,” he says. “I mean, you usually look nice. But tonight you're wearin' a skirt.” 

He's nervous too. It makes her smile. “Thank you,” she says. 

“And you did the thing with your hair.” He waves one hand near his temples. 

“I could braid your hair for you,” she says, in a low voice. She sets her box of candy down next to her and reaches for him. He ducks his head back with wild eyes and she has to laugh. “It'd look cute.” 

“Maybe later,” he says. She looks at him and feathers his hair back with one hand. It's as soft as it looks, sort of thin and fine. She strokes it again and he shifts a little bit on the couch like he's uncomfortable, so she lets her hand drop and picks up her candy again. 

“What're we seeing, anyway?” she asks. 

“Westworld,” he answers. 

“Have you seen it before?” she asks. 

“Yeah. You?” 

“Yeah,” she replies, putting the first Raisinet in her mouth. It's stunningly sweet. 

“Good, then we can make out,” he says, close to her ear. His breath on her skin makes her shiver. 

The projector comes on and the lights go off, plunging them all into darkness. The film seems too bright at first, and as her eyes adjust, she finds herself watching the beam of light that travels from the projector to the screen as much as she watches the film itself. She puts another piece of candy in her mouth and sucks on it to make it last, letting the chocolate melt on her tongue until all that's left is the raisin. 

Beside her, James is eating the popcorn. She reaches over and puts her hand in the bag to take a couple of pieces. She wants the experience of their hands touching in the bag more than she wants to eat popcorn. But it's salty and makes a good contrast to the sweetness of the candy. 

She slips out of her sandals and curls her feet up on the couch. This pushes her a little bit closer to James. He puts his arm around her, letting his hand rest against her shoulder. She leans up against him and it's comfortable. His body is warm against hers and she can faintly hear him crunching the Snocaps between his teeth. 

They watch the movie for awhile and eat candy. 

Juliet finishes hers and sets the box down by her feet, then she settles in again. James's arm squeezes her a little bit. She turns her head and looks at him. He's watching the movie, and she studies his profile, illuminated in flashes of dark and light from the screen. The hard lines of his forehead and his nose contrasting the softness of his mouth. He's clean-shaven. She's gotten used to it that quickly. When they arrived in the 70s, he had almost a full, dark beard. 

He notices her looking at him instead of at the movie. She doesn't look away, just raises an eyebrow. He keeps looking at her and takes a deep breath she can feel. His hand slips down from her shoulder, his fingertips tracing her upper arm. He cuddles her a little bit closer. She lets one hand rest against his thigh and puts her head down against his chest and goes back to watching the screen. 

His hand slides down from her arm and finds her waist, resting naturally against the curve of her body. She wonders where he's going to go next – up or down – but he leaves his hand there, heavy and hot through her thin blouse. It's nice. Cozy, and intimate. They might both be starved for this kind of physical contact. As much as she wants him to kiss her, it's so good just to be held. 

About halfway through the movie, she shifts her position. She picks up her head and puts her feet on the floor. He pulls his arm back and she feels its loss acutely. He looks at her, his forehead wrinkled questioningly. She puts her hand on his face and kisses him. He makes a soft sound and kisses her in return. The kisses are slow and soft and lazy. They have time. Yul Brynner is going to be chasing that other guy for awhile yet. 

She kisses his jaw, and then trails a line down his neck to where it meets his shoulder, just under the collar of his shirt. She inhales the scent of his warm skin and cologne. She gives him a soft bite and then licks him. His hand is in her hair, and he tugs on it to make her raise her head. Their eyes meet and he kisses her again. 

As they're kissing, he lays his hand on her breast. On top of her blouse. He lets it rest there, warm and heavy, like he's waiting for her to protest. She doesn't, and his hand moves, pressing into her, exploring. It's hard not to gasp. His touch turns light and teasing. It feels good, and she wants more, but she starts to think about how they're in public. In the dark, but still. Anyone could see. Maybe that's part of the thrill, but she puts her hand over his, stopping it. 

He ends the kiss and looks at her. It's a serious look. She wants to say something, but doesn't know what. She holds his hand against her chest for another minute, until his eyes return to the movie screen. He takes his hand away. 

She leans against him again and he presses a kiss on the top of her head. The Gunslinger's android face is melting; the movie is almost over. James holds her until the credits roll and the lights snap on, blindingly. She looks at his face in the light and wants to touch him. Instead, she stands up and gathers up their trash and takes it over to throw it away. 

A drunk man smelling strongly like beer stands next to the trash can. He leers at her and she glares at him in return. “Whassamatter?” he asks, and reaches for her. 

Juliet takes a step back, holding up her hands as though for protection. She doesn't want to have to punch this guy or cause a scene. She stumbles into someone, and when she turns, it's Ben. “It's okay,” he says, and brushes his hair across his forehead, out of his eyes. He turns to the man. “Come on, Dad.” He reaches for his father's hand, and the man shoves him, hard, away from him. The kid stumbles; it takes him two steps to catch his balance. Juliet reaches out to steady him without thinking. 

“That's enough,” she says sharply to the drunk man. 

“Hey now, we're all friends here.” James is standing at her elbow now, putting himself between her and the drunk man. Ben's father. It turns her stomach. “Party's over, everybody's just going home. To sleep it off.” He gives the guy a pointed look. Then he looks at the kid. “You got this?” 

“Yeah. I got it,” he says. 

James pulls Juliet away. He gives her a long look. “I didn't...” she starts, and stops. It doesn't matter. 

“Let's go,” he says forcefully, and they go outside. It's cast a shadow over the evening. “You like the movie?” he asks as they walk. 

“It was fine,” she says. “I like old movies.” 

“This here's a new movie,” he points out. They make the turn that leads to his house. “You want to come in?” 

“Should I?” she asks. 

“Kinda got the impression at the movie that you liked me.” The dimple in his cheek flashes briefly, and she sees the vulnerability in his eyes. “We could pick up where we left off.” 

“I don't think I'd be able to stop,” she says. 

“We're adults. We don't gotta stop.” 

“Yes, James, we do,” she says. She brushes back his hair again, just to have that connection with him. She's not rejecting him. She's not saying no, she's saying not right now. 

“Your first date thing.” 

“It's too soon.” 

“Says you.” He pouts a little and then lets out a noisy sigh. “Is it so wrong to want you?” 

“No,” she says. “I want you, too.” Her hearts skips a little on the admission. “But I want more.” 

It scares him. She can see that. It scares her, too. Almost enough to give in. They can have their lusty little fling and then be done with it. She can leave this crazy place and finally be free. 

“I'll walk you back,” he says. 

“I can --” 

“Not tonight,” he says sternly, and they're both thinking about Ben's father. “He's probably getting his ass kicked right now.” He sighs. “No wonder he grew up to be such a monster.” 

She knows what he's thinking, so clearly as if he's said it out loud. “You're not a monster,” Juliet says so softly. He gives her a sharp look. She's surprised him. 

“Your daddy used to beat you too?” he asks, suddenly sarcastic and accusing. 

Her teeth sink into her lip and she shakes her head. 

“Then you don't know any such thing,” he says. 

“I know you.” 

“You think you do,” he says. “You see what you wanna see.” 

“I see you, James,” she says. She knows who he is. She knows what he's done. And she's still here with him, exactly where she wants to be. 

“Maybe you oughta see Sawyer.” 

She blinks and then touches his chest, right where his heart is. “I do. They're all in there. They're all you. No matter what name you use. That's who I see.” 

He stands there, glaring at her. They've reached her house. He kisses her, with all the fire and passion and self-loathing that he has. It's a savage kiss, lips grinding into teeth painfully. He squeezes her breast and there's no gentleness in it. It'll be bruised tomorrow. She lets a small sound escape, despite herself, and it breaks the spell. He lets her go and stares at her. 

“I'm not afraid of you,” she says, weighing out each word. 

“You should be,” he warns her. “You forget my daddy shot my mama? I got that inside me too. I've killed --” 

“So have I,” she says, though she's never shot a man in cold blood and she knows he has. “You wanted to hurt me just now and couldn't do it.” 

“I did hurt you.” His voice is cracked and rough. He's holding himself stiffly, his entire body tense, and he squeezes his eyes closed. 

“I can defend myself.” 

“I know you can.” He opens his eyes. They're filled with tears and conflict. 

“Just don't break my heart,” she says, and puts her arm around him for a hug. She holds him close and tight. 

“I won't,” he promises, a whisper into her ear. 

She lets him go and he clings a little before sliding away. “Good night, James,” she says. 

“Night, Juliet,” he says. He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks away with his head down. She watches him until his figure merges with the darkness. 

…

He's feeling too many things as he lets himself into his dark, empty house. He doesn't even have names for them all. It's like there's a hurricane inside his chest, swirling and picking up speed and destruction. It's easier not to feel at all. He goes to the fridge and opens a beer and chugs half of it, but that's too slow. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and finds the whiskey bottle. He drinks straight out of it and just keeps swallowing until he runs out of air. 

Sawyer sets it on the counter with a clunk and goes into the living room. He sighs as he puts his feet up and opens the book he's reading. He doesn't have to think when he's reading. Doesn't have to be himself, living his miserable, fucked up little life. He can be someone else, somewhere else. But his thoughts won't turn off.

She should have slapped him. 

He's the head of security and he can't even do anything about a janitor hitting his kid. 

It's the fucking 1970s. 

No wonder she doesn't want him. 

If he tried to stop Roger Workman tonight, he'd beat the shit out of him.

She would have let him hurt her. He's hurt her before.

Maybe somebody standing up for the kid would be what stops him from growing up to be an asshole. 

Daniel Faraday's voice: whatever happened, happened. 

He wanted to hurt her. 

His uncle Doug's voice on a day that hasn't happened yet: what's done is done. 

He wanted to hurt himself and hurting her was the best he could do. He still wants to hurt himself. 

Freckles kissing him while he's tied to a tree, bleeding from the fingernails. 

He's never been able to hurt himself. That's why he learned how to manipulate other people into doin' it for him. 

He should have let her go on the sub. 

Sawyer lays down on the couch and lets the unread book fall from his fingers onto the floor. He's got the hiccups, like some drunk in an old cartoon. He used to get them when he was a kid from holding everything inside. His mother used to say, let it all out baby, and pat his back while he cried. Once she was gone, there was no one to do that when he needed it the most. 

She was going to leave him. That's what the con man promised her. 

He feels the chains in his hands again, draining out that man's life. He thought it would set him free. It was all he ever wanted. 

She would have left him and he would have been a kid alone with a drunk, angry father. 

Like Ben. 

Like Kate. And Jack. Millions of others in the world. 

Juliet's killed, but she ain't a murderer. 

Killing Sawyer isn't really all he ever wanted. 

His own voice, a hundred times in bed with the women he conned: What do you want? Right now? 

He wants to deserve it. It's too late for him to be a good person. But he still wants someone to love him. For real, not pretend, not some con. Him. Not some man he made up in his head and turned himself into. His whole life, he's been pretending, and he wants to stop. He wants to be worthy. But he doesn't know how. 

The whiskey bottle's too far away, even though he wants more, and the room is spinning like a merry-go-round. His hiccups are gone. He doesn't even wipe the tears away.


	4. Chapter 4

She takes her time getting up when she sees him coming to check out the van the next morning at the motor pool. Juliet's not angry with him, but maybe she should be. She watches him, then hops down from the stool at the workbench and meets him by the checkout sheet. 

His eyes are barely open, he's squinting so hard against the mild morning sun. They look swollen, too. She leans in a little closer than necessary. He doesn't smell like alcohol, at least. Maybe he's not still drunk from whatever punishment he inflicted on himself last night. 

She writes his name for him and puts the keys in his hand. “Let Miles drive today,” she says. 

“Will do,” he says, with a little fake salute that annoys her. 

She tries really hard to resist the urge, but says it anyway. “Drink some water.” 

He sighs. 

“I'm having lunch at one.” She doesn't invite him. He doesn't accept. They stand there another minute, and then she goes back to the workbench. When she glances back, he's looking at her. He puts his head down and sways a little bit. For a second she thinks he's going to throw up. But he swallows hard and takes a deep breath. He looks at her again, and then starts walking over to the security office, to get Miles, so he can drive. 

It's just a few minutes before Miles appears. “What did you do to him after the movie?” he demands. 

She gives him one of her well-practiced looks. “He throw up?” 

“Uh... yeah,” he says with emphasis. He reaches for the engine parts strewn across the table to start rearranging them. 

“Don't,” she says, and he looks at his hands like they're moving of their own accord, without his knowledge. “Keep him hydrated.” 

“I think the barfing got most of it out of his system,” Miles says. He spins a hex nut around in its place. “You break up or something?” 

“No,” she says and feels a little sad. “There's barely anything to break up, is there?” 

“Looked like something last night,” he says, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Yes. Well.” She takes a deep breath. “I don't know why he went home and drank himself sick, except that it's Sawyer. He likes to drink, a lot. Especially when he doesn't want to feel things.” 

Miles points at her. “You never call him Sawyer.” 

He's right. 

“I can't try to help if I don't know,” Miles says. 

“He'll tell you, if he wants you to know. He didn't tell me, but he might later. He doesn't need a therapist, Miles. He needs friends.” 

“No, I'm pretty sure that guy needs a therapist,” Miles says, and she laughs, because she agrees. 

“Don't we all.” 

He shrugs his agreement, and she wonders not for the first time what his demons are. Aside from the actual demons of the speaking dead. Maybe that's enough. 

“Bring him back for lunch,” she says. 

“I don't think he's going to want to eat anything.” 

“I wanna talk to him,” she says. “He's yours for five hours and mine for one, okay?” 

“Okay,” Miles agrees. He hands her the hex nut and she puts it into place. He jingles the van keys in his hand and walks away. 

…

Miles drives, and Sawyer would swear he hits every bump and pothole at speed on purpose. It's not like him – usually Miles drives like a turtle. He jokes he's never in his life gone more than 20 miles an hour because he's used to the clogged LA freeways. 

Then he pushes the tape into the 8-track deck and twists the volume up, and Sawyer knows he's doing it on purpose. Sawyer's entire body jolts with pain and he pushes the button to eject the tape. He puts one hand up to his aching head. “She told you?” he asks. 

“Huh?” asks Miles. “Told me what?” 

Sawyer sighs. 

“She told me she didn't know why you went on a bender,” Miles says. “You wanna tell me about it?” 

He doesn't even know what he would say. “No.” 

The brakes scream as Miles stops the van. Sawyer puts a hand out to brace himself. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

He didn't know that, actually. “We're friends now?” 

“You didn't notice? We'll get matching necklaces.” 

That's what he likes about Miles. He's sarcastic. Sawyer huffs out a laugh. 

“I meant it when I said if you hurt her, I'll kick your ass,” Miles reminds him. 

“I can kick my own ass just fine. Obviously,” Sawyer says. He licks his lips and reaches for the thermos that he knows is full of cold water today. Miles raises his eyebrows. Sawyer doesn't want to make a confession. He's not even sure what he'd be confessing to. Did he really hurt her, did he want to, would he have? He didn't find those answers in the bottom of the bottle so he doesn't really know. He puts his head back and closes his eyes, feeling the cool water settling into his stomach. “What're we doing today? Where's Jin?” 

“Jin's on grid 112. And we're picking up the head of research, that's all I know.” 

“Great,” Sawyer says. “Drive on.” 

“We're here. This is his house. Want me to honk the horn to get him out here?” 

“No,” Sawyer says. They sit there for a minute, but apparently the guy's not going to look out his window, so Sawyer unbuckles his seat belt and rolls out of the van onto his feet. The aspirin he took is starting to work, though he wishes like hell he had a pair of sunglasses. He knocks on the door. 

The guy who answers is losing his hair. Like a lot of guys, he's grown out what he has to try to make up for it. Plus it's the seventies. He's wearing glasses and a blue jumpsuit. “You're finally here,” he says, and steps out, closing the door behind him. “What took you so long, anyway?” They read each other's pockets. “LaFleur? What the hell kinda name's that?” 

“Last name. It's what they call me,” he says, but if this guy's the head of research, he's the number two guy around here so he must already know this. He probably discussed it with Horace before they hired Sawyer. Or maybe he's just an asshole. “You got a last name... Stuart?” 

“It's Radzinsky,” he says. “That's why I go by Stu.” 

They get in the van. Sawyer takes the back seat. “Stu, this is Miles --” 

“I don't care, let's go,” Stu says. 

Miles starts her up and they take off at his usual pace, which is only slightly slower than walking. Then he looks at Stu. “Where are we going?” 

“Check out the site for the new station,” Stu says. “It's top secret.” He hesitates and then hands a map to Miles. The van idles while he reads it, then they start moving again. Miles passes the map back to Sawyer. Sawyer turns it around a couple of times, trying to figure out which way is up. He tosses it on the seat because it's meaningless to him, but then something catches his eye. 

“This is outside our territory.” 

“That's why I need you two,” Stu says. 

“You're going to build a new Dharma station in the Hostiles' territory?” Miles asks. 

“That's classified.” 

“You think they're not going to notice?” Miles asks. 

“It has to be there,” Stu says. 

Sawyer picks up the map again and studies it. There's a logo down in the corner that he recognizes with a sinking feeling. “The Swan,” he says. “Who picks these names?” His mouth is dry, and he leans over the front seat to grab the thermos. 

“You were at the movie last night,” Stu says. “Putting on a show with the blond chick. You hit that?” 

“Do you have a girlfriend, Radzinsky?” Sawyer says, carefully. 

“No.” 

“Hmm.” Why isn't he surprised. “So, the Swan...” 

“Black Swan Theory,” Stu says. “Some events are so unpredictable they should be impossible. But they happen anyway. For instance, black swans were considered a mythical creature, until some turned up in Australia.” 

“This is a white swan,” Sawyer points out. 

“A white swan's an eventuality. Something that we know will happen sometime, even if it's rare.” 

“What's on this site that makes it so rare but worth breaking the truce over?” Sawyer asks. 

“The Hostiles are weak. They have no leadership, their numbers are dwindling. That's why they signed the truce. We have plans for them. They'll leave us alone.” 

Sawyer knows that most people, when faced with silence, will keep talking. He suspects Miles knows this too. Radzinsky, though... has no idea, and likes the sound of his own voice, besides. 

“There's an anomaly that makes it perfect for our research. It's only in that spot. It has to be there. It's the only place on the entire planet it can be,” Radzinsky says, and then he clams up. He folds his arms over his chest. 

Miles gives the van a little gas. It's not long before they reach a piece of jungle that, quite honestly, looks like every other piece of jungle. But Sawyer knows, and not just because he looked at the map, that they're only a short walk from the beach. He's almost tempted to go there and see how it looks. He just leans against the van, though, while Radzinsky does his thing. 

Miles stands next to him. “Nice guy,” he says softly. 

“Yeah,” Sawyer sighs. “Our beach is right over there.” 

“Really?” Miles looks. 

“I been inside this place he's talking about building.” He shakes his head. 

“You guys got your guns? You watching for Hostiles?” Radzinsky yells at them. 

“We're watching,” Miles yells back, and rolls his eyes. “I thought he said the Hostiles were wimps.” He looks at Radzinsky, who's wandering around, peering at something small in his hand. “What's he doing?” 

“Usin' a compass.” 

“We're not lost.” 

“He's usin' it because it's a magnet. And what's under our feet...is a giant freakin' magnet or something. I never understood it.” 

“Yeah, I can kinda hear the hum,” Miles says. Sawyer looks at him, incredulous. Miles shrugs. “There's places in the world that resonate. Some people can hear it. It's like a really low level machinery noise. Some people think it's spiritual. It's really loud in Taos.” He glances at Sawyer. “New Mexico.” 

“I know where Taos is,” Sawyer bristles. “You went to New Mexico to listen to a noise?” 

“No, I heard it in Tustin and did some reading about it.” Miles glances at Sawyer. “Orange County.” 

Sawyer didn't know or care where Tustin is, so he doesn't say anything. 

“Old girlfriend used to live by this military base they have out there. It was shut down, and spooky, man. They had these balloon hangers – huge, massive buildings for old timey zeppelins, like the Hindenburg in World War Two. Driving by, the radio would always go to static. One time I saw this weird dog in the road, but when I got closer... you ever read any Dean Koontz?” 

“Can't say that I have.” Sawyer wonders where this is going. He's not sure why he's surprised that a guy who talks to dead people has more bizarre stories to tell. 

“Guy lived in Orange County, always set his books there. This one was about an experiment. It created this super-smart dog, but it also created this other thing that was kind of like a dog, but not. That thing I saw in the road in the middle of the night – I swear it was the Outsider.” He glances at Sawyer. “Anyway, the hum was really loud around there, too.” 

“Great story, Mulder. Thanks for sharing,” Sawyer says. 

Radzinsky's walking toward them. “I'm done. Let's go.” 

“You got it, hoss,” Sawyer says. They get back into the van. Miles drives in slow motion. “You ever heard of the Taos Hum?” Sawyer asks Radzinsky, because he's irritated and feels like stirring the pot. 

Radzinsky hesitates just a second too long before he says, “No, what the fuck's that?” 

“Never mind,” Miles says, and meets Sawyer's eyes in the rearview mirror. 

They get back to the security office around twelve forty-five. Sawyer looks in the mirror as he's washing his hands. The florescent lights in the bathroom always make him look a little green, but he thinks he looks better than he did that morning. His eyes aren't swollen anymore. He might actually be a little bit hungry, too. 

He pulls open the door. “I'm meeting Juliet for lunch, you wanna come?” he calls to Miles. There's no answer. “Miles?” He looks around and finds himself completely alone in the security office. “Guess not,” he says to himself, and heads for the cafeteria. 

…

“I'm sorry,” James says immediately when Juliet sits down at his table in the cafeteria at lunch. 

She studies his face. “Apology accepted,” she says. “You look better.” 

“I feel better,” he says. “Nothin' like a couple hours running around in the jungle to fix a man right up.” He's got two slices of greasy pizza on his tray, but he's only taken one bite.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. 

He presses his lips together and just looks at her. 

That would be a no. She puts the glass of water she poured for herself onto his tray. “You should drink more water.” 

“You don't have to take care of me.” 

“You're right,” she says. “I don't.” 

“Do you really believe we can't change anything?” he asks. “Like Dr. Strange said?” 

“What do you want to change?” she asks. 

He shakes his head. “I just been thinkin' about it. Let's say we kill him. The kid's dad. Then what happens?”

“James,” she says. 

“Would it change things,” he says, urgently. His eyes search her face. 

“You're still thinking Ben grows up to be who he grows up to be because his father was abusive and no one stopped it,” she says. “But it's not like losing your parents made your life turn out better.” 

“It'd get him off the island.” 

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he stays, or gets adopted, or twenty years from now Richard brings him back because Jacob told him to.” 

“We're already changing things by being here,” James says. 

“Unless this is how it already happened,” Juliet says. “Like Faraday said. Then we can't change anything.” 

“So what we do is predetermined, because it already happened? I can't believe that.” 

“We still make our choices. They just turn out to be what already happened,” she says. “Or maybe things adjust around it, but everything ends up the same.” 

“I spent the morning on the site where they're going to build the hatch,” he says. 

“That must have felt strange,” Juliet says. She's thinking about how odd it still is, walking around this town where she's lived for three years, but it's thirty years earlier and nothing is the same except the buildings. 

“I should probably go,” he says. “Can we talk more about this tonight?” 

“Sure,” she says. 

He gets up. He's still only eaten the one bite of pizza. He leans down and kisses her on the forehead. It's sweet, and fleeting. Before she can reach for him, to hold on to this moment and make it more, he's grabbed his tray and crossed the room. 

Juliet turns back to her salad and picks at the lettuce for another minute. Her lunch break is over anyway. She isn't sure why she still feels disappointed. 

She has the afternoon to think about it.

It still feels odd for James to join her and Miles and Jin for dinner. She likes it; it's going back to the not so old times when they all ate together. He made a commitment to start being normal again, and she appreciates that he's keeping it. 

Miles and Jin debate the inner workings of Westworld. Jin's language skills are really coming along, Juliet thinks, listening to him use the word “sexbot.” She sighs and James catches her eye. He's just been listening to them, too, and not contributing to the discussion, but he looks amused. It makes her smile in spite of herself. 

He reaches for her hand, which is resting on the edge of the table. He threads his fingers through hers and gives her a satisfied smile. It turns her stomach to butterflies. She looks away for a moment, and when she looks back, he's still watching her. His eyes have turned serious and she wonders what he's thinking. 

She blinks first and he goes back to eating his dinner, but his other hand is still holding hers. She twirls some spaghetti onto her fork, but she isn't really hungry anymore. 

They linger over dinner, until Miles and Jin have run out of android politics to debate. They get up, and James's hand slips out of hers easily and naturally. Outside the cafeteria, it's gotten dark. The four of them walk to the point where James turns to get to his house. 

Juliet hesitates. 

“C'mon,” he says. “You promised me some conversation.” 

“Is that what you're calling it,” Miles quips. 

“C'mon,” James says again, and she can't resist him. Even if she feels a little unsure. She nods, and gives a little wave to Miles and Jin, who continue back to their house. 

James lets her in, pushing the door open and reaching for the light switch before following along behind her. He tosses his keys onto the table by the door. “You want something to drink?” he asks. 

“I'm okay,” she says. 

They go into the living room. She sits in the chair, and watches James as he picks up a book from the floor and tosses it onto the coffee table. He refolds the blanket and puts it on the back of the couch. This is where he spent the night last night, she thinks. He also didn't tidy up the house when he went home to change into casual clothes for dinner. Did he think she would turn him down? 

She almost did, so he's not wrong. 

“You still think you want to try to save Ben?” she asks him, cutting right back to the heart of their previous conversation. 

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “You're going to talk me out of it.” 

“Yes, I am,” she says. “You want to save Ben as a trial run for saving yourself. You've got two, maybe three years. But we'd never know if it worked. All those things that happened to us, they're in our memories. Even if we somehow unmake the future, those things are still in our heads.” 

He sighs, and waits for the rest. His body radiates doubt. “All the things that ruined our lives,” he says, and his voice is thick. 

“I don't think there are things that ruin our lives,” she says. “There are things that make us who we are.” She looks at him. He's hurting. “Listen, I could go right now and try to convince my dad not to hire the woman he cheated on my mom with. But he married that woman, and they're still married 20 years later. He found his person. And my mom wasn't lying either, he did still love her, too, in his own way, until the end.” She takes a deep breath. “Should I go tell my mom not to skip that mammogram? Maybe if she hadn't had cancer, it would have been a car wreck or an aneurysm. Should I go tell my sister to get genetic testing and have everything removed before it's too late?” Her eyes are burning now, but she looks at him. “There's too many things that happened, and every single one of them put me on the road that brought me here. To this island. You can't question all of them, or think you can change all of them. You'd go crazy.” 

“Did you get genetic testing?” he asks. 

All of that, and that's what he gets out of it. “Yes. And I'm fine,” she says. 

And then a moment later, it hits her hard when she realizes why he asked that question. He asked because he cares about her. She blinks and the tears fall and she wipes them away. 

“You want to try to stop it. Go kill the con man. But all the things that made that happen, would still be there. He's out of the picture, but your mom is still unhappy or unfulfilled, and your dad is still angry and jealous. Those are things you can't change.” 

“You're saying it would all happen anyway.” 

“Maybe,” Juliet says. She watches him, turning thoughts over in his mind. Discarding them. Working through it. 

“He told me,” he starts and stops. His tongue works in his mouth as he thinks. He starts again, hesitating at first. “Before I... killed him. He told me. He promised to take her with him. That's how he got the money. The con man. So if he was out of the picture...” He sighs. Rubs his lips together. “I would've ended up alone with him. My daddy. Or got dumped on Uncle Doug, just like I did in this life. Or worse.” He puts his head in his hands, but he's not crying. 

She understands somehow that this is what set him off last night, thinking about ending up a motherless boy with a useless, abusive father. She puts her hand on his back and he flinches. She says softly, “No matter who you are. Or what you did. You are valid. You're worthy. You deserve to have a good life.” 

He looks at her. “You're my shrink now?” 

“No,” she says, and looks down. 

“You been to therapy though,” he says. “Sounds like.” 

She nods and laughs. “Yeah.” 

“What's so funny?” 

“The funny thing is, James, that I was screwing my shrink's husband.” 

His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “I sure have learned a lot about you tonight.” 

“Yeah,” she says, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. “I guess you have.” 

“You wanna come lie on my couch and we can talk about it some more?” he invites. 

She loves how he always tries to pull off seductive, but just ends up grinning at his own stupid lines. Obligingly, she gets up and relocates to the couch next to him. She'd sat down in the chair because she just wanted to talk to him, and keeping some physical distance between them seemed like a good idea. 

But now she thinks she's said more than enough. She lies down, resting her head on his thighs and her feet up on the arm of the couch. Her shoes clatter to the floor as she toes them off. His bones are hard under her head and she looks up at him from this new angle. He strokes her hair absently, so gently she can barely stand the yearning ache it opens up under her ribcage. 

He looks down at her. He traces her lips with his finger, and her breath starts to come a little faster. He rubs her lower lip, which is exquisitely sensitive. His fingertips move on, to touch the shallow spot in her chin, and she licks her lips, tasting him there. He places his hand on her throat and she wonders if he can feel her pulse racing. He skims her collarbone and down her sternum before slipping his hand into her shirt. 

His fingers slide underneath the satin of her bra and she gasps. He drags his fingers over her hard nipple and she arches against his hand. She can hear the rasp of his breathing now. She closes her eyes as he rubs and strokes. She wants his mouth on her. He lifts her breast up, pushing the bra cup down. 

He puts his other hand between her thighs. It's too much.

“Hmm, don't,” she says, reluctantly. He pulls both hands off of her body and she opens her eyes. He's scowling. She sits up, her heart beating erratically. He stalks into the kitchen as she sets her clothing straight again. She can still feel the lingering heat of his hands on her skin. 

There's still whiskey left in the bottle because he drinks it now, then leans against the cabinet, facing her. “Why are you here?” he asks her. 

“Because I want to be.” 

“Are you sure?” he says. 

“Hey,” she protests, because thirty seconds ago his hands were all over her and she was thoroughly enjoying it. They both were. 

He looks down at the whiskey bottle in his hands. He's looking at his hands, and she knows that he's thinking of the night before when he grabbed her, and maybe even her stupid dislocated shoulder from a few weeks ago. 

She lets her head fall to one side, going over the same thoughts that echoed in her head last night. All the excuses and justifications. Maybe she should be afraid of him. But she's not. 

She gets up and walks over to him. “Give me that,” she orders, and he relinquishes the bottle. She drinks, and it burns and she feels it going straight to her head, which is where she wants it. She kisses him, hard and deep, putting her tongue into his mouth. Tasting the whiskey on him. She wraps her arms around his neck and grinds her hips into his. She tells herself she does it because it's the only language he can understand, but maybe she just wanted to, and more words would get them nowhere. 

It shuts him up and shuts off the circular thoughts in her head, anyway. 

His hands are on her behind, holding her against him. He's starting to maneuver her around so she's got her back to the cabinets, and he's going to lift her up so she's sitting on the counter, and if he does, she knows there's not going to be any turning back. Part of her wants to let him, but not to stop an argument. 

So she breaks away, gently. She savors the look on his face, his eyes dark with arousal, his mouth open. She takes two fingers of his hand in hers and tugs him back to the couch with her. The couch is dangerous too, but she sits turned, facing him with her bent leg folded between them. 

“You're killin' me here, Blondie,” he breathes. 

“It'll happen, James,” she promises. 

He puts his hand ever so lightly on her thigh, and gives her a look so full of longing it almost cracks her resolve. 

She just keeps breathing. “So I'm going to go home now. And tomorrow... things are going to go back to normal. You're going to ask me on another date, assuming you still want to, and I'm going to say okay.” 

“Bossy,” he remarks. 

“Fine, James, then do it your way,” she says, because she's tired. “Now kiss me goodnight.” 

“You got it,” he murmurs, and presses a soft, sweet kiss onto her lips. “Sweet dreams.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sawyer turns up early the next morning to check out a van. He tells himself he's eager to get a start on the day, but really he's just excited to see her. He's not even sure why. 

Maybe it's the way her face lights up when she sees him. Her eyes brighten and she smiles and walks over to him. 

He holds out the steaming cup of coffee he picked up for her at the cafeteria. “For you.” 

“Thank you,” she says. “It's hot!” She sets it down and smiles at him. 

“Extra sweet, just the way you like it.” 

“Even better,” she says, and they smile at each other. Then she leans in and gives him a quick kiss. It's almost like an experiment, like she's trying it out. This is how someday they're going to kiss each other when they've been together forever. 

He likes it. He wants more, but makes a point of not messing it up by pressing for more. There's something warm that blooms in his chest at the idea of this simplicity, this “have a good day” married-couple kind of kiss. He even likes the idea of being left wanting. 

Sawyer scribbles his name and takes the keys. He watches her sip the coffee, and she watches him over the rim of the cup. Then she sighs happily. He closes his fist around the keys, not wanting to leave, but he has to. “See ya, Blondie.” 

“Bye, James.” 

He heads for the van, and pauses before getting in to look back at her. She's turned at the workbench, giving him one last lingering look, too. He raises a hand and so does she, and then they both turn away. 

And damned if he doesn't think about her all day. 

That night, after dinner, Sawyer suggests they go to the rec room for awhile. 

“What's in there?” she asks. 

“Recreation,” he says with a grin, just because he knows she'll roll her eyes at him. They walk in to the large, mostly empty space. A couple of people are playing pool, but aside from that, they have it to themselves. Sawyer heads over to the bookshelves. Juliet follows.

“Still decently in order,” Juliet observes, and starts reshelving things. 

He pulls out an oversized book that's out of place. It's a guide to dog training. “Maybe we could get a dog.” He realizes after a heartbeat that he said “we” instead of “I”. Earlier, when they were out working the grid, Jin was explaining to him about how couples get a dog as a trial run for having kids. Make sure you can keep something alive, together. 

“This isn't a good place for pets,” Juliet says. She doesn't seem to have noticed his slip up. 

“You don't wanna adopt one of them cute little sharks and keep it in the tub?” he teases, because he's got to lighten things up here. 

“I like the bunnies with the numbers on them,” she says. She pulls out a book and hands it to him and then nods. He looks at the cover and it seems fine. Besides, she gave it to him, he thinks with that little surge of happiness he gets. That's good enough to make it his next read. He tucks it into his back pocket. 

“You good?” he asks her, and she nods, brushing her hands off on her jeans. She's giving him an interested, curious look. “What?” 

“Do you read in bed?” she asks. 

He's surprised, but only for a second before he gives her a grin. “I know how you could find out,” he suggests. “Are you picturing me in bed?” Her cheeks turn pink like she's blushing, and he wishes for a second he could stop time and just have her looking at him like that forever. 

But she pulls away, stopping in front of the pinball machine. “Wanna play?” she asks. 

He shrugs. “Got any quarters?”

“Here.” There's a pile of blank metal slugs on the windowsill next to the machine. Their fingers brush as Juliet puts one into his hand. He turns it over, surprised they didn't put the Dharma logo on them. He drops one into the machine and it lights up. 

It's been a long time since he played, but it starts to come back to him as he works the levers and knobs. Juliet stands back a step, watching him, and he puts a little extra performance into it. He shoves the machine, and bends, and tosses his hair back. Eventually, things wind down and the game ends. He gives the machine one last slap and then looks at her. “Just like ridin' a bike,” he says. He looks at the pile of quarter blanks and thinks about playing again. 

“My turn,” she says. 

“Oh ho!” he cries, a little surprised, but yielding the pinball machine to her with a little flourish. 

“Think I can beat you?” she asks, giving him a mischievous look. He doesn't say no, even though he thinks it, because he knows it'll piss her off. “You don't, do you?” she asks, and drops the slug into the slot. 

She's a quiet player. She stands fairly still, moving the levers with an intense focus. Sawyer watches her. He's fascinated by how she seems completely calm and in the zone. She has a surgical precision, he realizes. 

It's also clearly not her first time playing pinball. 

The game finishes and she looks at him with that cocky smirk. She dusted his score, and she knew she was going to. “You hustled me,” he says, equal parts impressed and annoyed by losing to her. 

“If I was hustling you, we would have made a wager,” she points out. 

“Hell, woman, why didn't you?” 

She shrugs, and the look in her eyes changes. Sawyer feels it down in the pit of his stomach as clearly as if she'd said it. She could have won anything she wanted, and she knew it. So that means...there's nothing she wants from him. 

“What would you have bet me,” she says, moving in close. Her eyes are wide and seem so deceptively innocent as she looks up at him. Her voice is low and breathy, barely above a whisper, but so husky it resonates in his chest. “That you wouldn't give me just by my asking?” 

She's right. 

It hits him like an arrow in the chest. He doesn't have to bet her for guns or moonshine, or a kiss, or the truth. He'd give her the world if she asked him to. And he knows, deep down where it counts, that anything he asks her for, she'd give to him. If she wouldn't, he doesn't want it. 

It is a stunning realization for a man who's spent his life manipulating people into giving him what he wanted at any given moment, whether it was money or a quick fuck or a fist in the face. 

She's still looking up at him and he doesn't quite know what to do. He kind of wants to bolt. Juliet slips her hand into his, holding him there, keeping him present. They walk out of the rec room together. It's dark outside now, and there's a cool breeze blowing. At the crossroads, they turn toward her house. 

“Did you do that on purpose?” he asks her, serious. He can't get his head around it. He can't decide if she just manipulated him or if it was just a thing that happened.

She gives him a look. “Maybe I just like pinball.” She blinks at him. “Are you okay?” 

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he replies. They've reached the house. 

“Hmm.” She slips her hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Or tries to, since he stuck a paperback in one pocket. So one of her hands goes into his pocket, and she puts the other on his side. He leans into her. She tips her head up and opens her mouth for him to meet in a kiss. He nudges her back against the building, tangling his hand through her hair. 

The kiss breaks and they stand there breathing hard. “You should come in,” she says. 

He thinks of Miles and Jin. He thinks of Juliet's blue flowered pajamas, and her asking him if he reads in bed. He thinks of her roommate sleeping in the other bed in her room. He thinks about the things he learned tonight, and how he needs to process them. He kisses her again softly and then says, “Goodnight, Juliet.” He runs his hand over her hair again, and then turns to go. 

He doesn't hear the door close behind him, and when he looks back, she's still standing there, leaning against the wall, watching him walk away. He wonders what she's thinking, and why he doesn't know. 

...

Days later, Juliet's sitting in the living room reading, or maybe just holding a book while she thinks. It's late and the house is quiet. 

The softest knock in the world comes from the front door. 

It's so quiet she thinks she imagined it, and she has to hold her breath to hear it again. Feeling a little wary, she crosses the living room and opens the door. James is standing there, looking down at his boots. His hair hides his face. He looks up hopefully when he hears the door open. 

“Hey,” she says softly. 

“Hey yourself,” he says back. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She opens the door wider to allow him entry. “What's up?” She's concerned something's wrong for him to be on their doorstep in the middle of the night. 

“Missed our midnight chats,” he says. “Saw the light on, figured I'd drop by.” He gives her a long look and cocks his head, not saying anything. 

She's gone back to sleeping in his bright blue t-shirt, since he moved out. It's soft and she likes it. Now she tugs it down a little bit, feeling self-conscious, wishing she'd opted for her nice, safe pajamas when she decided to give up on sleep and move out to the couch where she could turn on a light without disturbing Shirley. 

They sit down in the living room together. Juliet wonders if he's ever dropped by before, and she wasn't awake or just didn't hear him at the door. She might give up on sleeping altogether, if it would mean missing him coming by. “I missed this, too,” she says. 

He picks up her book and looks at it. She puts out her hand and he returns it to her, and she puts it out of the way. “You ever think about what would happen?” he asks. 

“You're going to have to be more specific.” 

“Chuckin' bizarro suburbia. Headin' back to the mainland.” 

“I think of it as suburbtopia,” she says, and shakes her head, because she doesn't. The word just occurred to her and she thought it was funny. He gives her that look like he thinks she's odd, and she kind of likes that look. 

“You don't think about it?” 

“I did,” she says. “At first.” When she was still bound and determined to get off this damn island. “But it seemed like the more I thought about it, the easier it was to stay.” 

“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice low. 

“Leaving here, there's a lot of questions. Where to go, and how to make it work. Staying...was easy.” She looks at him. “It sounds like you think about it.” 

He lets out a sigh. “I mean, are we taking Miles and Jin with us?” 

She just likes that he said “us.” “I don't think Jin would go.” 

“Me either,” James says. “He still thinks we're gonna find Sun.” 

“He misses her. And she's pregnant, and he's not with her. That's got to be so hard.” It makes her sad to think about. She suspects, somewhere deep down, that Jin is learning English for his wife. For someday. “Miles would go, though.” 

“I can see Miles in Vegas.” 

“Are we going to Vegas?” she asks. 

“Don't all time travelers?” he shoots back. “We're gonna need cash.” 

“You've got all the answers,” she says. “You don't want to stay?” 

“In Vegas? Hell no.” 

“James,” she says softly, in that tone that they both know by now means he's deflecting and she's redirecting. 

“It ain't so bad here,” he says, and his eyes roam over her bare legs when he says it. 

“You're still wondering if you can change things,” she says, and he looks away, which is an admission in itself. 

“Every day I stay here, I'm more afraid to try,” he says, and looks at her. “You don't think we can.” 

“No, I don't.” She wonders if this is how she loses him. She doesn't even have him, really, unless you can count this as having him. Her lack of belief would drive a wedge between them – an irreparable one, when it turns out she's right and he can't change anything. She hesitates for a moment before she says, “I'd go with you.” 

He blinks like he's surprised. She can't imagine why. She doesn't have anything here, and she's been vocal enough about her desire to leave the island no matter what. It's a fool's errand to follow him if he only leaves because he thinks he can change the past, but she would go. 

“Do you ever think about what would happen if we get back to our own time?” she asks. 

“How's that gonna happen?” 

She shrugs. “Delorean?” 

“Funny,” he says. “Ain't thought about that at all.” He looks at her carefully. “You have.” 

“We'd all be back on the beach,” she says. “Like before.” 

“But they'd come back for us.” 

She thinks of the explosion of the freighter, and the black smoke curling up into the sky. “Would they?” 

“Course they would,” James says, and the crease across his nose he gets when he's irritated is deep. 

“What if they can't?” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” 

How can she even explain it? “I think the island was... moving? Or hidden? Daniel tried to explain --” 

“He'll figure it out, with those eggheads in Ann Arbor.” James sounds like he believes it. Like he believed it all along. Like they just forgot, somehow, that they were definitely getting back to their own time, and soon. And when they do, the ones who got off the island will bring the cavalry to save them. 

He and Jack can go back to fighting over Kate, just in a new location. She'll go back to her sister. Finally meet her nephew. Never see any of them again. It's what she's wanted for three years, and suddenly it feels empty, thinking of a life without him, and her eyes are prickly. 

“Every time they got off Gilligan's Island, they ended up back there,” she says softly. 

“When the hell did they get off Gilligan's Island?” 

It feels like he's made her point. “What'll happen if we stay here?” 

“That's the only other option we got left. Stay or go,” he says. “How'd the Dharma Initiative turn out?” 

“Badly,” she says. 

“Figures.” 

This is the only future she's really thought about. She's not much of a daydreamer, but it's easy for her to imagine a future here. It's strange, but familiar; the 1970s, but in the island bubble. They stay. They work their jobs. They finish falling in love. 

Eventually, someday it all falls apart. That's the part she doesn't think about. The Hostiles kill everyone in the Dharma Initiative. Eventually James gets bored and they break up. Or he decides to leave to see what he can change, and she can't stand by and watch him. Or John Locke comes back with Kate and Jack in tow, and James goes back to being Sawyer, if he ever really stopped. 

There's a million ways it can end. It would be so easy to protect herself. Letting herself fall is what requires bravery. But she's starting to forget that she doesn't believe in forever. And James has never seen such a thing. 

“So what if we do stay. Here. On the island, in the 70s,” he says, and looks at her. “What's that look like?” 

“What do you want it to look like?” 

“I'm not the one who's been thinkin' about it,” he says, with one of his smug grins. But she knows him. He always has a plan. There's no way this hasn't crossed his mind. 

“All right,” she says. “We stay. We settle in. Make friends. Do good work. Shock people with our ability to predict the endings of new books and films. Live quiet, little lives. And eventually, we have to leave to stay safe.” 

He blinks at her and she knows he's thinking. She's pretty sure, actually, that he's thinking about Steinbeck, and how dreams always go bad. 

“We gonna be sleepin' together in this future of yours?” 

Maybe she was wrong about what he was thinking about. “What do you think?” 

He cocks his head and just looks at her. Like he knows the future. Which he does. Just not this future. “It'll be like this after a while,” he says, and his fingers stroke up and down her arm. “Talkin'. Comfortable. Not touching.” 

“James,” she says, cautioning and annoyed. He holds up his hands and his eyes flash. “Would you prefer me to call you Jim?”

“Oh, now you're askin'?” 

“I'm not calling you LaFleur,” she says. 

“What's in a name?” he asks her. 

“That sounds familiar.” She rolls her eyes at him. He's not the kind of man to quote Shakespeare. Or maybe he is, deep down, but it's not exactly original to quote that play to her. 

“I got used to it,” he says, and meets her eyes. “The sound of it. Comin' from you.” It's permission. Or a declaration. But then he gives her a wry look and adds, “Course at the time, I didn't much appreciate your blowin' my cover.” 

She just looks back at him. He couldn't hide forever behind the name he gave himself. And now Jim LaFleur is the new name he's given himself. Is he just hiding behind that? Another persona, an act? 

“Did you like your name? When you were younger,” she asks. 

“Never gave it much thought. One a those things you can't change.” 

“I gave it tons of thought,” Juliet says. “I wanted to change my name to a hundred different things. Something normal, that you could get on personalized barrettes, like Jenny. No one took me seriously.” 

“Julie musta been too obvious,” he says, and she gives him a half-smile. “Nah, you're not a Julie.” He moves his head, as though remembering. “My uncle called me Jimmy. Like I was still a little boy.” 

“You didn't like that,” she says. 

“Least of my worries at the time. Didn't matter.” 

“You're so not a Jimmy,” she decides. 

“Okay, Jenny,” he says, a little sarcastic. 

She cringes at it, now. “Oh no. You're not giving me that as one of your little nicknames.” 

“What do you prefer then, Blondie?” 

“That's okay,” she says. “It's not really up to your usual standards.” 

“Rapunzel? Goldilocks?” He tries them out. 

“Are you my handsome prince?” She flutters her eyelashes at him.

He opens his mouth like he's trying to think of something to say, and he can't, and he's frustrated by the words not coming out. 

“It's too bad I don't have any other distinguishing features,” she says. 

His eyes drift downward to her chest and she gives him a warning look. He meets her eyes and closes a hand on her hair, stroking it softly. It's enough to distract her from her lack of freckles. “Blondie it is,” he says. 

“Is it any fun if I agree to it?” she asks. “I thought the point was to be annoying.” 

“It's affectionate,” he says. “Like you callin' me James.” His eyes have turned dark and intense, like they do when he is starting to think that he wants her. 

Or maybe he's just tired. 

She reaches for the book she was reading. He needs one too. “You ever read Pride and Prejudice?” she asks. He shakes his head. She puts it into his hands. Anticipating his protest, she says, “It's amazing. It's not my favorite of Jane's, but it's her best book by far.” 

He looks down at it. His thumb brushes across the cover. Then he looks at her again. It's longing, she thinks. He probably sees her return it. She settles in against him, her shoulder against his. It's warm, and it's cozy. She feels him take a breath and hears him turn the first page, which she knows by heart. She opens her book to where she left off. Leaning against him, she can feel some of the tension draining out of him as he's swept into the Regency world of Bath. 

This is so nice, she thinks. Quiet. Reading together. Her eyes are starting to close, and eventually she stops fighting it. 

A loud voice awakens her. “If only you had your own house to do this in. Oh, wait. You do.” 

She cracks open one eye. The sun is up and Miles is standing there in his jumpsuit, yelling to wake them up. James jerks awake and moves away from her. “Nothing happened,” she says, and gets her other eye open. 

“I know,” Miles says, looking at them both. Juliet gets up. “I can literally see your whole ass right now.” 

“No you can't,” she says, but tugs on the t-shirt anyway. “So don't look.” 

Miles puts up his hand to shield his eyes, mostly to keep James from kicking his ass. He's still looking at her. Juliet gives him her death stare and goes into her room. She pulls on a pair of jeans and then figures while she's at it, she'll put on a proper shirt. She's buttoning it when she hears the front door close solidly. She flinches at the sound and emerges from her room, still buttoning. “Miles?” she asks. 

“He went home.” 

“He didn't have to.” 

“Yeah, he kind of did,” Miles says. “You can go after him if you want.” 

She stops and gives him a confused frown and does up another button. “Has he come by in the middle of the night before?” 

“A couple of times,” Miles says. “We talked for awhile, and then he went home. I think maybe it happened with Jin once, too.” 

“Hmmm.” She's sorry she missed it. But it's strange to think about it. She wonders what they talked about. 

“Even with you and me and Jin and all our other new pals in the Dharma Initiative, I think he's lonely.” 

She's never thought of James as lonely. Alone, yes. Lonely? Not for a minute. But she can see now that he is. That maybe it's always defined him, though usually it's hidden. She's never thought of herself as being lonely, either, but maybe she is. 

…

Sawyer needs a Jeep so he swings by the motor pool. Juliet must have given up on him because she's under one of the vans with only her legs sticking out. “Hey, boss,” he says to his old boss, Matt, who signs him out. Sawyer lingers a bit, knowing he might as well get going. 

Matt rolls his eyes and calls out, “Jules, your boyfriend's here.” 

She slides out from under the van with a smile. Sawyer holds out his hand to pull her up, and comes away with oil and dirt smudged all over his palm. “Hey,” she says. 

“Am I your boyfriend now?” he teases. 

“You tell me,” she says softly. 

He wants so badly to touch her. But then he would kiss her. 

“He calls you Jules,” Sawyer observes. 

She shrugs. “You didn't have to leave this morning,” she says. “We could've had breakfast. You missed waffles.” 

He lets out a sigh. “A wild animal don't let others see when he's vulnerable.” It's the only way he has to explain it. Falling in love with her feels like the same amount of threat to him as being wounded in the wild would be to a big cat. 

She gives him her little half-smile. “You're not a wild animal,” she says in that simple way she has. Like she's a kindergarten teacher and he's a thirty-five year old in her classroom, her dumbest student. “You're a man.” 

She thinks she's domesticated him. He looks around at where they are, and thinks about what he's feeling, and maybe she's not wrong. Except for the snare drum beat of his pulse and the tension in his body like he might have to run telling him that she is wrong. Domestic is vulnerable, and that's what scares him. The only home he ever had was the most dangerous place he's ever been in his life. 

“We're your friends,” Juliet continues. “You don't have to get embarrassed.” 

He thinks of her again in that blue t-shirt with her legs bare. Being caught in the act – of taking a nap, nothing more. She wasn't embarrassed. 

“About that,” he says, and looks down. She shifts her weight. “Horace is havin' this dinner party.” He glances at her, and she's amused, so he looks away again. “I can't get out of it, and I need a plus-one, so I was wonderin' if you'd go with me.” Now he looks at her. 

She's smiling. “Will there be fondue?” 

“Hell yes, it's the 70s, ain't it?” 

“Lucky for you,” she says. She nods a little bit and looks him straight in the eye. “Of course I'll go with you. When is it?” 

“Tonight. See you at six-thirty.” He jangles the keys in his hand, satisfied with himself that he got that done. He leans in and impulsively plants a kiss on her forehead, then jogs over to the Jeep and speeds away. His heart is still racing.


	6. Chapter 6

At six twenty-nine, he stands on Horace's doorstep with Juliet. He's wearing jeans and a shirt he had to iron. She's wearing a dress and her hair is curly. He rests his hand on the small of her back, just for a second, before they ring the bell. He's not the only one steeling himself for this. 

“This doesn't count as our date,” she says without looking at him. 

“I know,” Sawyer says, and she rings the bell. 

“LaFleur!” Horace cries happily when he opens the door. “You made it! Hello, Juliet.” 

“Hi,” she says, like she's uncomfortable, and second later that discomfort has completely vanished, and she smiles. “You have a lovely home. Thank you for inviting us.” 

“Thanks for dragging this guy here,” Horace says. “Can't have a party without the guest of honor.” 

Juliet raises an eyebrow at this. Sawyer reaches for her hand, a lifeline, but Horace pulls him away, telling him there's people he needs to meet. 

Sawyer spends the next hour being introduced to eggheads from the Dharma Initiative, most of whom have passed through his jail cell for being outside the boundary. They all pretend none of that happened. While he's trapped in some inane conversation with Radzinsky and Chang that goes over his head but is really all about the two of them posturing about who's the bigger asshole, he looks around for Juliet. 

She's over by the buffet, holding a tiny plate with appetizers on it. She seems relaxed, and smiles at everyone, and talks to most of them. She seems interested, and genuine, and at home. 

She's good at this, he realizes. Fitting in. Blending in. It's a different side of her than he's seen before. She didn't make any friends when she joined them on the beach, except for the doc, and while Sawyer was not about to join her fan club back then, he never understood that. Why she didn't try. Sawyer considers now whether that was all part of the manipulation – she was playing the hated outcast just to pull Jack in further and he fell for it. Sawyer doesn't think so. If she'd been able to make friends on the beach, she wouldn't have needed Jack to protect her. 

Then again, she's never helped keep any of these people prisoner in a cage, so there's a lot less baggage here for her to overcome. 

And either he's forgiven her for that – Sawyer, a man who doesn't forgive and doesn't ever forget – or he's a bigger fool than Jack ever was, and he doesn't see how that's possible. 

He remembers her saying that her family moved around a lot when she was a kid. She must have learned how to fit in and make new friends. He watches her now and wonders if it's real or all an act, like Sawyer was an act, like LaFleur is an act. Or is this the real Juliet, and Juliet-the-Other and Juliet-the-Outcast were just her being who she had to be to survive? 

He supposes that he already knew that people had different facets, different parts of themselves that emerge when needed. He's watched it a thousand times and used it to his advantage. The woman in bed with him isn't the woman with her husband, and that woman's different with her husband when she's trying to get his money. It's always the same woman. 

It's all the real Juliet. 

He named himself LaFleur here because he wanted a new act to put on; someone else to pretend to be. But he didn't need it. 

He hasn't been pretending since the plane crashed. Not really.

And everyone pretends sometimes. That's the piece he's been missing all this time. He thought he was the only one. 

While he sometimes thinks he doesn't know who he is anymore, when being here and being responsible, without a con to be found, when it all feels like swimming in air with no solid ground beneath him, it turns out that he does know. He's the same inside no matter what decade it is or what he's calling himself. He's Sawyer and LaFleur and James Ford all at the same time. 

It's starting to be comfortable. 

“You weren't together on your boat, were you?” 

He blinks as the voice pulls him out of his thoughts. Amy's standing in front of him, looking up at him with curious brown eyes. She glances over at Juliet to make it clear who she's talking about. “You've been staring at her for at least five minutes,” she says. 

“No,” he says, answering her question. “We weren't together.” 

“I think Horace likes me,” she confesses.

He's not sure why she's telling him this. “You're a likable lady,” he says, smoothing on the charm. 

“It's hard to move on,” she says. “It hasn't been that long since...” Her eyes fill with tears, thinking about her husband. Her husband whose job he has now, because that husband died. 

“Horace is a good guy,” Sawyer says. “No need to rush into anything.” 

“I like him too,” Amy says, and he sees her feeling guilty. “Sometimes I wonder if that's just because it's easy. Liking someone who already likes you. Or if it's really him. And sometimes I think it doesn't matter, because the nights are long and dark.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks. 

“Because I think you understand. And I think you need to hear it.” 

He looks at her, with her cute curls and her sad smile. “What do you think you need to hear?” he asks. She just keeps looking at him. “Then go for it,” he says. “It's him. You didn't go for anyone else. And you don't have to be alone. Go get him.” 

She smiles a little bit more, like him giving her permission is what she was really looking for. He's just telling her what she wants to hear. 

“Life don't stop just because they're gone,” he says, and he realizes it's true. He's always felt like his life did stop after that tragedy when he was a kid. But he kept going. Derailed, but kept going. 

Amy pats his arm. “Thanks, Jim.” It's not just for the conversation. It's for saving her life, even though they didn't save her husband's. Then she walks away. 

Sawyer's thinking he needs to take his own advice. March on over to Juliet and … he doesn't know what. Kiss her? Declare his feelings like in that old book she handed him last night? He's about to do it, walk over there and figure out what happens when he gets there, when the sound of cutlery tapping on glass draws everyone's attention. 

“I think you all know him by now, but if you don't, give it up for tonight's guest of honor, our head of security, Jim LaFleur,” Horace announces, and Sawyer feels all eyes on him. He shakes his hair back and gives an affable smile, because what else can he do? “LaFleur – don't call him James, because he hates it – is a valuable new addition to our team, after the terrible tragedy that sadly took Paul from us.” Horace's eyes go all soft when he looks at Amy. She called that one, Sawyer thinks. “We're glad to have him, and the other members of his boat crew have also made good additions to our family here on the island. Anyway, that's all I had to say, so thanks for coming out tonight.” 

There's a smattering of applause, and then one quiet voice that sounds suspiciously like Juliet's calls out, “Speech!” 

“Jim?” Horace says, looking at him expectantly. 

Sawyer shakes his head, feeling a little dizzy with everyone looking at him. He should have seen this coming and figured out what to say. “Thanks to y'all for being so welcoming. Just keep on followin' the rules that have been set out, and I'll do my best to keep you all safe.” He hates himself; he feels like a small town sheriff. 

“Here here,” Horace says, letting him off the hook as far as thinking up more to say. 

Sawyer lets out a slow breath and everybody moves on, returning to their conversations. Except Juliet, who crosses the room. He gives her a look when she gets there, but he's glad to see her. He wants to grab her and cling to her.

“'Just keep followin' the rules,'” she quotes back to him in a goofy accent and grins. 

“It's not like I could pull out 'live together die alone,'” he protests. She blinks at him like she doesn't understand. “A speech. The doc made. Back on the --” 

She grins and he realizes she's pulled one over on him. Again. “I know,” she says. “He told me.” 

“I just bet he did,” Sawyer says, because he can picture it. 

“I'm proud of you,” Juliet says, and her blue eyes are shining. 

His breath catches, because he's not sure anyone's ever been proud of him before in his life. 

But the moment doesn't last, because a finger pokes his shoulder just then. The finger belongs to Radzinsky, who has the pink face of a man who can't hold his drink. “We need to eradicate the Hostiles,” he says. 

“Can't eradicate people you signed a truce with,” Sawyer points out, keeping things level and easygoing. “Kinda the point of havin' a truce.” 

“Gonna have to. Sooner or later. Get rid of 'em, solve a problem.” 

“Okay, I think it might be time for you to say goodnight,” Sawyer says. He looks around but realizes he has no idea if Radzinsky has someone here who can drag his sorry ass home. 

“I'll do it. If you're too soft,” Radzinsky continues. “Wipe 'em all out!” 

Sawyer glances at Juliet, who shakes her head. “He came alone,” she says. 

“Great,” Sawyer sighs. He sizes up the other man, who's about his height but has some weight on him, but he's also a scientist, so he probably can't fight, even drunk. “Time for you to head home to bed. Have those murderous fantasies there.” 

“Make me,” Radzinsky invites. 

Juliet's hand rests on Sawyer's arm. He can't punch out the head of research at a party thrown in his honor to welcome him to the team. As much as he might want to. “Let's go,” Sawyer says, and puts his arm around Radzinsky's shoulders. He figures there's a fifty-fifty chance the guy will be bawling by the time they get to his house. He starts walking him in the direction of the door, and looks back at Juliet. This isn't how he wanted the evening to end. 

…

“You stay much longer?” James asks her, the next morning at the motor pool. 

“No,” Juliet says, and looks at him accusingly. “You lied about the fondue.” That gets her one of his real, dimpled grins and she loves the way that makes her feel. His eyes are as green as the jungle today. “You get him home okay?” 

“Yeah,” James says. He hesitates and flips his hair back even though it's not in his eyes. Juliet looks at him, curious. “I was thinkin',” he says. “About that date.” 

She waits, holding her breath a little bit, excited at the thought. 

“You still wanna –?” 

“Yes,” she says. She's not sure why she finds it so endearing when he seems shy and insecure. Maybe it's because it's so rare to see that side of him. 

They both know what this date means. What's going to happen afterward. It scares her, a little. It's something they can't take back. After they've had sex, their relationship is going to be different. It might be the era of free love, but between them, it's a commitment. 

“Tomorrow night?” He's looking anywhere but at her. 

“Okay,” she says and her voice comes out soft. 

“What?” he asks, just as softly, his attention drawn back to her face.

She smiles, because it's stupid, and she looks away. “What if it's bad?” 

“Sweetheart, it's not gonna be bad,” he says, bragging. 

“What if it is?” she asks, and looks into his eyes. 

He seems to understand. “Hey,” he says, and puts his hand on her arm, real and solid and keeping her grounded so she doesn't disappear into her own thoughts. “There's nothin' wrong with you.” The moment stretches on, intense, between them. Then he scoffs and says, “'sides, it's like pizza. Even when it's bad, it's pretty damn good.” 

She gives him the smirk and the death stare. 

“I'll pick you up right after work,” he says. His hand squeezes her arm. He doesn't try to kiss her, probably because he knows that after that pizza line, she might just bite him. He gives her another dimpled grin and takes off. 

The next day, James arrives at the motor pool about five minutes before the end of her shift. She has dirt under her fingernails and grease in her hair and suspects that she smells like sweat. For at least the last two hours, she's been looking forward to going home and taking a cool shower. 

James is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, and his hair is shiny. “One van please,” he says. 

She looks at him, feeling confused. “Are you canceling on me?” If he had to work, wouldn't he be wearing his jumpsuit? 

“No,” he says with a slow smile, as he scrawls his name on the checkout sheet and takes the keys. “Surprise.” 

“James, I can't --” She gestures down at her uniform. 

“Go home'n get cleaned up,” he says. “I'll be waiting for you.” 

“Where are we going?” she asks, but he just cocks his head and raises his eyebrows at her. She has to force herself to walk home. She wants to run, to get back to him that much faster. But he's watching, and she doesn't want him to know. 

At the house, she speeds through getting ready as much as she can. She puts on slacks and a blouse, and a little bit of makeup. Then she has to dry her hair. It's still damp when she gives up. It'll curl, but she won't look like a poodle, anyway. She stops a moment to look at herself in the mirror. She feels silly for having such butterflies in her stomach. 

She presses her hand to her ribs and wills her nerves to stop. It's just James. 

He could break her heart. 

He probably will, someday. 

She heads back to him anyway. 

He's leaning against the van, waiting for her. He smiles when he sees her, and she smiles back. He opens the door and she climbs inside. He joins her, and turns the ignition key. He pushes an 8 track into the player, and soft music starts to play. Juliet looks at his hands on the wheel and realizes he's wearing cologne, because she can smell it. 

“Where are we going?” she asks as he makes the turn out of the barracks.

“You'll see,” he promises. “How was your day?” 

“Fine. Grungy,” she says. “How was yours?” 

“The same,” he replies. They fall into a comfortable silence. He turns the volume up on the music. She watches him drive. He's comfortable, confident. She wishes he was wearing a t-shirt so she could watch the muscles in his arms. 

He pulls up to the boathouse, which is near the submarine dock. The brakes squeal as he stops and Juliet thinks she should take a look at them in the morning and see if they need replacement. James looks at her, and he's turned the charm up to 11. “This is it,” he says. 

“What's it?” she asks. 

“You'll see,” he says for the second time that night. He hops down from the van and she climbs out. He catches her hand and leads her over to the boathouse. She remembers the building as being the kind of place where you had to worry about spiders, so she feels a little wary when he pushes open the door. 

Inside the small building, he's set up a tiny table for two. Tall taper candles are burning and a spot of wax has dripped onto the white polyester tablecloth. There's a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a fruit and cheese plate. “No restaurants around, so I had to improvise.” 

“You did this for me?” she asks. She spots a couple of flowers in a tiny vase that she overlooked at first. She's touched. “This is sweet.” 

They sit down at the table. It's small enough that they have to sit slightly diagonal from each other, and even then their feet and knees still meet underneath the tablecloth. He uncorks the wine and pours it, then touches his glass to hers. “To us.” 

It's so cheesy she has to smile, but she likes it. She watches him as the flickering candlelight plays over his face. He always looks so good in firelight. She's aware that he's watching her too. Neither of them seems to know quite what to say. 

“This is good,” she says. She grabs some cheese and a cracker. For a cult on a deserted island, it's fairly fancy cheese. 

“It ain't five-star, but it'll do.” 

“I was really hungry.” She sips her wine, only drinking a little. She wants to be clear headed for this night. “Sometimes I think you like actually like me.” She looks at him challengingly, but she feels playful. 

“You think so?” 

“This might be giving me the wrong impression.” 

“Course I like you. You think I spend this much time with people I don't like?” 

“What do you want to do about it?” she asks in a low voice and rests her hand on his arm. She watches his eyes, and the flame reflected in them. 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. “You're definitely sittin' too far away.” 

It's funny, given the tiny size of the table. But she scoots her chair over so she's sitting right next to him. She sits up very straight in her chair, where he's more relaxed and sprawled, with his legs stretched out. He lifts his hand to touch the side of her face and guides her to kiss him. He lets out a satisfied sigh when she pulls back and his eyes open to look at her. 

“We're not doing it in the boathouse,” she says. 

“Who said anything about doin' it,” he says, but they both know it's on their minds. “Maybe I just wanna hold you a little.” 

She gives him a long look. “I mean it,” she says. “I'm pretty sure there's spiders in here.” 

“I promise. Bed, pillows, anything you want. Back at my house. I washed the sheets.” 

“You've been busy.” She kisses him again. He kisses her back lazily, like they have all the time in the world. He puts his arms around her and they look into each others' eyes and kiss again. His hands start to move up underneath her shirt. She puts her hand on his stomach and thinks about moving it down lower, inside his jeans. She wants to feel him. But she doesn't want this to go too fast. She wants to remember every moment. 

He's kissing her deeply and moving his hands across her skin and she's breathless. It all feels so good. Desire coils in her belly and she starts to think that she can't wait. 

His walkie talkie crackles. 

He freezes against her. His thumb is on her nipple and he raises his head. 

Ignore it, she's thinking. Why did he even bring that thing? 

“Jim, come in.” It's Miles's voice on the walkie and he sounds strange. 

Juliet throws her head back and sighs. James shifts awkwardly away from her to reach the walkie clipped to his belt. She stares up at the chains hanging from the ceiling of the boathouse. She wonders what they're for, and her eyes are hot with disappointment. 

“Not now, Miles,” he growls into the device. 

“Jim?” Miles cries. “We got a reported 14-J situation. I repeat, 14-J. Right out there where you are.” 

“What's a 14 --” Juliet starts to ask, but then the warning sirens sound. It always fills her with panic. “Son of a bitch.” She pulls her bra down, and then her shirt. James is already out the door, and she follows him. She saw the rifle stowed in the back when she got into the van, and now she picks it up and checks that it's loaded. 

She hands it to James, and he gives her a handgun he had stashed underneath the front seat. Their eyes meet and they make a mutual decision. The siren blares even more loudly outside. They stand by the van, shoulder to shoulder, back to back. Ready to defend themselves if they have to. Ready to defend each other.

They stand there, tense. Ready to fire. Eyes sweeping, keeping watch. A tree rustles and Juliet almost pulls the trigger before she realizes it's the wind. 

The siren dies into nothingness. The silence now seems to echo.

Neither of them relax. Juliet expands her range of coverage as James lowers his weapon and grabs the walkie. “Talk to me, Miles.” 

“False alarm.” 

“What?” 

“False alarm,” Miles repeats. “Nothing out there.” 

Juliet finally takes a deep breath, but she doesn't lower her weapon. She's waiting for the siren to start to wail again. Her skin is covered in goosebumps.

“Over'n out,” James says, and throws the walkie hard into the van. He kicks the side of the van for good measure, and then howls because it hurts. 

“What's the point of having a secret code for an invasion if you're just going to set off the alarms and scare the shit out of everyone?” Juliet asks, feeling icy calm, tucking the gun into the back of her pants. It feels familiar and safe and she realizes how long it's been. She thinks about Radzinsky wanting to kill all of the hostiles, and the truce. 

They go back into the boathouse, but the mood's gone and the evening is over. James pinches the candles to put out the flames. There's a duffle bag he had stowed off to one side, and now he puts everything except the table and chairs back into it. Juliet stands with her arms crossed. The gun is snug against her back. 

James tosses the bag into the back of the van, then slams the side door and gets in on the driver's side. Juliet walks slowly over to the passenger side and gets in. She shifts and takes the gun out of her waistband, laying it on her lap. 

He ejects the 8 track and they drive back in silence. “Wanna come to my place?” he asks when they pull into the motor pool. It's gotten dark outside. He sounds bitter. 

“I'm disappointed too,” she says. “I'll help you clean up.” Whatever cleanup there is from the remains of their evening tossed haphazardly into a bag. She imagines him driving out there this afternoon and setting everything up so carefully and it makes her heart ache to have it end this way. 

“I can manage,” he says. “Want me to walk you back?” 

“I'm a big girl,” she says. She hands him the gun, feeling its heaviness and weight. “And it was a false alarm.” 

“Gonna be a busy day tomorrow,” he sighs. 

Juliet spots Horace Goodspeed walking toward the van. Not far behind him are Miles, Jin and Phil. “Gonna be a busy night.” She leans over and kisses James, pulling away before he can start to kiss her back. She puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing hot muscle and bone through his jeans, and then she gets out of the van. 

She looks at Miles as she passes and he looks right back at her.


	7. Chapter 7

As he sits in the security office with Horace and the rest of the team, and they go over everything in the sequence of events for the twenty-third time, Sawyer's mind starts to wander. He's thinking about Juliet. Not her lips or her hair or the feeling of her skin against his palms. He's thinking about how quickly she reacted, and how it felt to stand in the jungle with her. Her shoulder pressed against his as they stood back to back, ready for anything. That's the moment he can't get out of his mind. The feeling of her bumping against him. He trusted her with his life. 

Who cares about his heart. 

He gives it a couple of days. He's not quite sure why. They were ready; they'd both decided. Getting interrupted didn't change anything. It increases the smoldering looks and brief little touches in public, and he's kind of enjoying that. The last few days of anticipation, made that much sweeter for knowing that it's going to end. 

“Wanna come over tonight?” he asks her, when he goes to claim the keys to one of the vans. He's brought her coffee again, which already made her smile at him. 

“I was going to, even if you didn't ask,” she says and takes a sip from the cup. 

“Good. That's settled then,” he says with a nod. She looks at him like there's something more to say, so he waits. But she just takes another sip of coffee. He wants to tell her that they can knock off work and go now, but he can't. She can't. So he shoots her another grin and tosses the keys up and catches them, then heads off to work. 

The day is torture. Miles and Jin are bickering. Phil and Rich are giving each other the silent treatment, which is at least quieter than bickering. Sawyer tries to get through the paperwork, mostly as an excuse to sit in his office with the door closed, but he forgot his glasses and is too stubborn to go get them, so his head aches. Then he's treated to an endless parade of scientists coming in to bitch about each other. 

It makes him long for those days on the beach, when they were starving and in danger and probably going to die. But he had his nice comfy chair and the sound of the waves to lull him to sleep in the hot sun. He thinks about making a run for it. 

But Juliet is waiting. 

Miles and Jin are still bickering at dinner. He's tuned them out all day, but now he realizes they're debating a damn movie that they watched in the rec room last weekend. 

He looks at Juliet and she's holding back laughter. He guesses it really is ridiculous, and he feels his jaw relax and his teeth ungrind for the first time all day. She takes on a serious look and meets his eyes. He feels his breath start to come a little faster, a little more shallow, as he thinks about the evening and starts to feel excited. She raises an eyebrow and glances at the door. Sawyer's eyes widen, an agreement, and Juliet gets to her feet. 

“Have a good night,” she says calmly, and picks up her tray and takes it over to the clean-up area. Sawyer watches her. The way her hips move. He tracks her all the way out of the cafeteria. 

He stands up so fast it almost knocks over the table. His water glass tips and he reaches for it and it sends his tray cartwheeling to the floor. Sawyer stands there for a second, embarrassed, with everyone in the entire cafeteria looking at him. Then he glares but his heart's not in it. He picks up his plate and silverware and then mops up the spills with a handful of napkins. “See ya, boys,” he says. 

“Go get 'em, tiger,” Miles says, and gives him a thumbs up and big wink. Jin copies the thumbs up. 

They've fooled no one. Sawyer glares and drops off his wreck of a tray and goes outside. 

He has to stop to catch his breath, because his heart is racing so fast. He wants to run all the way to his house, but he has to slow down or he'll ruin this. He looks up at the sky, that impossible clear blue that lasts into evening. Then he forces himself to walk slowly to his house. 

Juliet's sitting in the lawn chair on his porch. She's got one knee up and she's twisting a piece of hair around her finger, something he's rarely seen her do. She's wearing sandals and he notices she's painted her toenails pale pink. Her fingernails are unpainted. 

“They know,” he says. 

“Of course they know.” She looks up at him. 

“Wanna come in?” 

“Unless you want to sit and talk awhile.” 

He pushes open the door. She gathers herself up out of the chair and walks in to the house ahead of him. Sawyer closes the door firmly and locks it. Juliet turns to him and she's close enough to touch. “Turn off your walkie.” 

“One step ahead of you, Blondie. Left it at work,” he says. He stands there with his hands open, at his sides, not moving. He's thought about this before, fantasized, wondered how she's going to be, in the bedroom. If she's going to be cool as ice or burn with a hidden flame. Every time he thinks he knows how it's going to be, he sees something else in her that changes his mind. 

After tonight, he's going to know. 

She's looking at him with her blue eyes wide and a little uncertain. 

He wets his lips for words he doesn't want to say. “We don't have to --” 

“Yeah. We do.” She puts both hands on the sides of his face and kisses him. It's soft, and tender, and exciting. He's pretty sure her heart is beating as fast as his is. She wants this, wants him. 

Maybe that little confirmation was all he needed. He wraps one hand around the back of her neck, kissing her deeply. His other hand reaches down, skimming her behind to find the curve where it meets her thigh, and he pulls her up and against him. He's so hard he aches and all he can think about is burying himself inside her. 

He backs her up into the wall and starts tugging at her shirt, trying to get it off. 

She breaks the kiss and says his name. Insistently. To get his attention. He opens his eyes. She puts her hands on top his his, pushing them. “Slow down,” she says. 

It makes him feel hurt and uncertain. He's suddenly aware of the cool air in the room. He can hear his own breathing, how he's practically gasping for air. He takes a step back. He realizes she probably had her own ideas and thoughts and fantasies about how this was going to go. Not that he had this planned out, not really, not like this. He got carried away. 

She reaches up and brushes his hair back from his forehead, even though it hasn't really fallen into his eyes. Her fingers trace their way down to his arm with an exquisitely light touch, and then she takes his hand. 

Juliet leads him to the bedroom. 

Light from outside filters in through the shades. Sawyer stands there, suddenly not sure what to do next. She reaches for the hem of her shirt, and he brushes her hands away. “Let me,” he says, low and rough into her ear. He pushes it up and then pulls it off over her head, then drops it. Deliberately. He reaches for the buttons on his own shirt and watches her watch him. The shirt hits the floor. 

She kisses him then. He thinks she meant for it to be light and teasing, but it's not. It's full of desire. Her tongue slides against his. He puts his hands on her back and lets them rest there a moment, feeling her ribs and the silk of her skin. Then he works the hooks on her bra. He drags it down from her shoulders, still kissing her as they make space between their bodies for it to fall. 

Her hand skims down his belly and into his jeans. Their lips part as his head tips back. He sucks in a breath even as he pushes into her hand. He wants to cover her hand with his own, grind into her hard and show her how he wants to be touched. But if he does, this is going to all be over before it starts. 

“Danger,” he breathes and pulls her hand away. He undoes her pants and pushes them down. She steps out of them, standing in front of him in just a triangle of satin. He looks at her for a long moment, aware that his mouth is open, but his brain is too flooded with impulses. 

Juliet sits down on the bed. He sits down next to her. He sees now that she's breathing hard too, and her face is pink. He kisses her again, putting his hand on her breast. It's full and soft and heavy. He drags his mouth along her jaw, down the line of her throat. He dots her collarbone with kisses. She lays back and he takes her nipple into his mouth. His tongue explores her, and he listens to the map of her sighs. When he sucks hard, her hips buck and he moves his hand to hold her still. 

She says his name and he opens his eyes and raises his head. She doesn't say what she wants. He threads the fingers of his right hand through hers. His left hand rests at the top of the satin of her panties. They're dark blue, not black like he originally thought. He slides his fingers over the slippery material to find the heat of her. She writhes under his touch. 

He wants everything at once. He wants to see her, and put his mouth on her, and watch her face as she comes. But more than anything he wants to be inside her right now. She's reaching for the buckle on his belt like she knows what he's thinking, struggling to unbuckle it with the hand he isn't holding. 

He kisses her and releases her hand, to undo the buckle himself and unbutton and unzip. Her hands push his jeans down in the back, roaming from his spine down to squeeze his ass. Sawyer groans and then keeps kissing her because he wants to hold on to this moment, this last moment of not knowing. 

Then he moves off of her, rolling on to his back and then sitting up to drag his jeans down and throw them on the floor. He watches her looking at him. He swallows and shakes his hair back and looks away. Then he reaches for her panties and she lifts her hips so he can skim them down her thighs and then off and onto the floor as well. 

Sawyer digs in the nightstand drawer for the ridiculous Dharma Initiative branded condoms he bought. 

Then he moves between her thighs. He meets her eyes. “Juliet, I --” 

“I know,” she says. 

He sinks into her slowly. Her eyes are closed and her eyebrows draw together for a moment and she makes a soft, seeking sound. He lets out a groan because it feels so good. He kisses her gently while he waits a moment, feeling her squeeze around him. She digs her heels into the bed as he starts to move, rocking his hips into hers to get deeper and then starting to thrust. The bed creaks its protest as she moves with him, her hips rising to meet his. It's too much for him to bear for long, the sweetness and the friction, and he stops moving, letting it take him, and then he falls against her on the soft bed with a grunt and a sigh. 

She strokes his hair and smiles at him. He smiles back and holds her tight. She curls up on one side and he wraps himself around her, fitting his knees into the bend of hers. He sweeps her hair away and plants tiny kisses on her spine. He circles his arms around her waist and she puts her arms over his. She snuggles against him. Sometimes he thinks this is the best part, the closeness afterward. 

“Juliet,” he says, insistently, but she shushes him and he forgets what he wanted to say. 

…

She knows he's asleep because he's relaxed and heavy against her, and because he hasn't tried to start another conversation. He makes noises in his sleep, more sighs than snores. 

She lies awake and asks herself why she wouldn't let him say it. Because she knows he does, as much as he can, anyway, and she does too, but there's something about the words, especially caught up in the moment. 

It doesn't change anything. They were already together. 

It changes everything. 

It will change everything, again, and they talk too much already. 

She closes her eyes and tries to sleep. Tries to dream. 

She rouses in the middle of the night with James still lying heavily against her. She can tell he's awake though, and she's not sure how. Maybe it's the sound of his breathing, or the way his arms feel around her waist. She draws in a deep breath and he moves his hand against her stomach. She smiles, even though he can't see, and presses back into him, stretching a little bit. 

He pulls away, rolling onto his back and then reaching over and turning on the light. He looks satisfied with himself. “Hey, gorgeous.” 

“Hey yourself,” she replies, her voice low. She lies on her back with the ceiling fan blowing cool air across her skin. James gets up and comes back with a glass of water, which he hands to her. “No ice cream?” 

“Fresh out,” he says. He brushes back a curl of her hair and watches her drink the water like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. The word smitten comes into her head, and she almost laughs, because it's so completely the opposite of anything she'd usually associate with him. 

“I wanna be on top this time,” she says, and sees the surprise in his eyes. Like he hadn't even realized there was going to be a this time right now, or a next time, or a time after that. 

He takes the water glass from her and puts it on the night table. “All right,” he says playfully, and lets her push him down. 

She gives him a long look, memorizing his tan skin and smooth muscles. There's a bit of softness on the sides of his waist that she runs her hands over and wants to pinch, to see how it would feel. Below that, there are places where his skin is paler. She presses her lips to his. “You're beautiful,” she murmurs against his mouth, letting her hand drift down between his legs. She strokes him and feels him growing thick and hard. 

Still stroking him, she leans over him to get into the nightstand drawer. A second later, her back hits the mattress and his weight against her pins her. James grins down at her, his hair hanging into her face. She struggles against him. “I said --” 

“Relax, cowgirl,” he says. “Somethin' we gotta do first.” 

She opens her mouth to ask, but all that comes out is a whimper as he puts his hand between her thighs. His fingers are thick and hot and his skin is slightly, deliciously, rough. His thumb circles a place too intense, then he starts to stroke her with his fingers. It builds quickly, so much more quickly than when she does this herself, and along with the sweet, unbearable pleasure she aches inside to be filled. He slides one finger into her and then a second. He starts to stroke her inside as well and she feels like something inside her soul breaks free as the pleasure bursts over her and then settles into long waves. 

“That's more like it,” he says, and when she opens her eyes, she knows he was watching her. 

She wants to lie there and let him look at her forever. She drifts and breathes for another long moment, still feeling the aftermath, but as it fades, she starts to become acutely aware of him lying beside her. His hot skin, and his hard cock and how much she still aches inside for him. 

She pushes him down, and with one hand on his chest she holds him there while she gets a condom out of the nightstand. She puts it on him and then climbs on top of him, sitting on his thighs for a moment so she can lean down and kiss him. His hand closes over her hair and he kisses her back. Then she breaks the kiss and pushes herself down on top of him. 

His entire body moves. Her breath is ragged and she convulses a little as she slides down the length of him. Then she settles, feeling him so deep it hurts. He groans and she watches his muscles tighten. His face is strained with pleasure, and then he opens his eyes. He looks into her eyes for a moment, then his gaze drifts down. She rubs her hands over her breasts, holding them up and together and then letting them go as she watches him watch her. She can feel his cock twitch and thicken inside her. 

She starts to move against him. He makes a heated sound in the back of his throat and it inflames her. She's still slick and aroused from when he made her come the first time. His hips start to move under her and her head falls back as she finds just the right angle. She strains against him, wanting to let go and wanting to keep going. His thighs and his body tighten as he gets close and his fingers dig into her hips, forcing her against him. 

Her breath catches and the contractions roll through her. He cries out, nonsense sounds and grunts, and his hands fall away and his body relaxes. She rises up, letting him slip out, and then lies against his chest, with his heart underneath her ear. His fingertips drift across her spine. 

He sighs noisily. Happily. 

They lay there another minute before he wraps her up tight in his arms. He holds her there for a long time. She expects him to fall asleep, but he doesn't. He reaches up and turns off the light. 

“You're amazing,” he breathes into her skin. 

She smiles against him. “So are you.” 

“I'm thinkin' about all the other ways to make love we got to look forward to,” he says. 

“Hmm.” Make love. It seems funny, those words, coming from him. Unexpected. Sweet and old fashioned. But right. She likes it. 

“I wanna taste you,” he says. 

“Maybe in the morning,” she suggests. They're both satisfied and exhausted. Her body feels heavy, like she couldn't move it if she wanted to. And she's hot, with him lying against her. It makes her happy. 

“We got time,” he says, and cuddles her a little bit harder. All she can do is murmur her agreement, and smile. She feels safe for the first time in years. 

…

They sleep late in the morning. Juliet awakens to James's fingers combing through her hair. “Mornin', sunshine,” he says, looking at her. He's been watching her again. 

“Morning,” she says, and half-smiles at him. She stretches, feeling wonderfully sore. 

“Hungry?” he asks. 

“Mmm. Very.” 

“Let me see what I can do about that.” He leans in and gives her a soft kiss. She's just reaching to draw him in closer when he slides off the bed and is gone. She sighs, but she's still smiling. She finds his shirt on the floor and pulls it around her. In the bathroom, she swishes some mouthwash and makes a minor effort to corral her hair. 

She pads out to the kitchen. He's put on some shorts, and pushes a coffee mug in her direction, then goes back to scrambling some eggs. “I'm happy,” she announces. 

“I'm happy that you're happy,” he says, looking over his shoulder at her. He scrapes all the eggs onto one plate and sets it down, sitting next to her so they can share. “Less dishes,” he says. 

“Oh,” she says, watching him eat. 

“What?” he asks, and she envies his easy obliviousness. 

“Aren't you happy?” she asks, in a tiny little voice. 

“Sweetheart, I'm eatin' eggs next to you in a house. Nobody's yelling, chasin', or tryin' to kill me. I am ecstatic.” 

She recognizes false bravado when she hears it. His defensive walls are up, and her heart sinks, even though it shouldn't, because she knows that if he's scared, it means she's got him. She just thought they were past this. They might never be past this. She takes a deep breath, and buttons one of the buttons on his shirt that she's wearing, and puts her feet on the floor. 

He sighs, audibly. He gives her a look that's real. “Don't leave,” he says. 

She takes a bite of the eggs and reaches for the salt. Then she puts one foot up on the rung of the chair. “I'm not going anywhere,” she says, and she means it. He puts his hand over hers on the table. 

“Juliet,” he says, and his voice is like velvet. 

“You don't have to love me,” she says. “Just don't lie to me.” Maybe she's still afraid, too, like he is. 

He considers it. “I won't,” he promises, looking right into her eyes. 

These are their two biggest fears, the things that have defined their lives. He doesn't want to be left alone, and she doesn't want to be lied to. 

They eat, in silence. Then he comes up with, “I think you should move in here. I want you to. With me.” 

“Why?” she asks. She really wants to know, but she's also thinking of him asking her not to leave. Her moving in would just be an extension of not leaving. 

“Why not?” he asks her in return, his forehead wrinkling as his brows lift. But then he smiles and his dimples are impossibly deep. “Cause you've got my back.” His grin turns wicked. “And my front, and my sides and my --” 

“James!” She interrupts, but she's laughing. She feels happy again. Content, and easy, with him. 

“What, Blondie?” He looks at her. 

“Okay,” she says. 

“Okay,” he repeats, and looks terribly pleased with himself. 

…

“How much damn stuff have you got?” Sawyer protests, a couple of days later, standing in the room she is no longer going to share with Shirley. 

“It's just some clothes,” she says, folding the top of a Dharma Initiative branded carton closed. 

“Some clothes, hair stuff, makeup, other girl stuff, two sets of sheets you ain't never gonna use because they're for a twin bed, and thirty-two paperbacks. But who's counting.” 

“Thirty-three.” She retrieves one that had fallen under the bed and is covered in dust. 

He blows off the dust. “Great. Michener.” He tosses it over his shoulder and it falls in the middle of the floor. “I don't recall you helpin' me move.” 

“I would have, if you'd asked. If I hadn't come home and found all your things gone,” she says. She looks around, at the stripped bed and the boxes on the floor, and the dead book, and all Shirley's junk. “Maybe I should stay,” she says. 

“No way,” he says. “You agreed. I ain't lettin' you go back on it now. We're shackin' up and that's that.” 

“Maybe I should make you make an honest woman out of me.” Her voice is husky, like it gets when she's serious, but her eyes are playful. 

“It's 1974. We're gonna live in sin. It's gonna be great,” he says. “You wouldn't say yes even if I asked you.” 

“Someday you'll have to try it and see,” she says, with one of her mysterious smiles. “But not today. We still have all this stuff to move,” she teases, and picks up one of the boxes and rests it against her hip. 

He sighs and grabs the other box. “Juliet,” he says, and she looks at him. 

He loves that it's all he has to say. “I know,” she says, and reaches out to take his hand for a minute. He squeezes hard, then releases her and they walk out of the house. Ready to start their life together. 

(end)


End file.
